


Bay Laurel

by TintinnabulousRunes



Series: Tokens and Praises [2]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen, Implied Annie Cresta/Finnick Odair, POV Alternating, POV First Person, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, The Rebellion Failed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-07-28 18:37:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 32,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7652320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TintinnabulousRunes/pseuds/TintinnabulousRunes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Panem lulls every year as summer fades into fall. The Hunger Games are over for another year. The Capitol nurses its collective hangover, the Districts mourn and rage, and the newest Victor tries to piece themselves back together again. Then the Victory Tour arrives in time to reopen half healed wounds.</p><p>Bay Laurel is for glory and renown. (But is it worth it?)</p><p>The sequel to Pewter Owl: The 87th Hunger Games</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Let's see how Lynn is doing, shall we?

**Summer 87**  
**August Something**  
**15 Days Home** (Am I Home?)

**Lynn Rayna**  
**District 4**  
**Victor of the 87th Hunger Games** (or is it Tribute?)

Dove whispers to me, her voice gurgling through the slash in her throat I put there. In her whistling voice, she tells me how she was going to get married to Al and they had already picked out a house to move to once they were both past Reaping age. Family misses her and friends miss her, too. Unlike me, she had a life to live after the Games. She had plans and I have nothing, yet I am the one who lives. I took that future from her and do not even have a proper answer as to why.

Her spirit haunts me because they did not lay her to rest properly. They do not know to pay the ferryman in District 5, they cannot, or else Dove would not be here haunting me. Her presence here proves she can't move on. Ajax has been laid to rest and crossed the ocean to the lands of the dead, a coin in his mouth and a weapon in hand. Dove is trapped here, unable to pay her way. There is nothing I can do except tell her I am sorry over and over and over.

A bang cuts the air. Whose cannon? I'm the only one left. Everyone else is dead. I can't be dead. Could I be?

Another bang and a rattling noise from somewhere close by.

Mutts. It can only be mutts. There will be no Victor this year, they have sent mutts to kill me. I broke the pack. I burned the Cornucopia. They will kill me for breaking their patterns, for ruining the chance of a melee. This is my punishment. Mutts.

I open my eyes and the covers are torn away. The mutt looms over me. I slash out with my knife and there is blood and screaming. The mutt flees. I scramble back and fall to the floor. I press myself into the corner between the walls and the nightstand, protecting my back and sides.

More will come. The Gamemakers never just send one if they don't get the death they want. Fangs and claws and fur and scales and feathers. Screaming voices sent by Jabber Jays to plague me. I hold my knife out in front of me at the ready. They may kill me, but I will go down fighting.

Something seems wrong about all of this.

(Dreaming?) Suggests a little voice in the back of my mind.

I pinch myself and feel it, so I'm not dreaming.

(Hallucinating?) Suggests the little voice as an alternative.

What causes hallucinations? Tracker jackers. (18th Games, apple trees. 44th Games, south forest. 74th Games, pine woods.) I check my arms and legs for stings. No, I haven't been stung. Certain plants can, muttations and natural ones. (36th Games, puffball fungus. 50th Games, red and black flowers. 78th Games, tree sap.) There are no marks from sap or thorns on my arms and my stomach growls with hunger, so I haven't eaten anything recently.

I am in my room. That much feels real; the walls are solid and the wooden floor is smooth beneath my fingers. The mutt had been real, too. It had torn away the covers and bled when I cut it. My room and mutts do not mix so something has to be fake. 

Loud sounds continue, shouting and crying. More banging noises. The banging noises are not cannons. Doors, knocking and slamming. This doesn't make sense, I'm the only one here if I'm in the arena; everyone else is dead. Jabber Jays must be doing the shouting and slamming.

A voice cuts through the confusion fogging my mind. "Lynn, are you in here?" That's Luke's voice. Luke matches with my room, not with mutts.

The voice could be from a Jabber Jay (or not).The Gamemakers could be tricking me, trying to lure me out. I clutch my knife tighter and poke my head out from behind the nightstand to check.

Luke stands in the doorway. He is not a Jabber Jay. He remains in the doorway. "Are you okay?"

He does the cautious thing again, not wanting to scare me, so he stays back. That actually scares me because he thinks I might be scared and he is right about these things. My mind catches up with my body. I am scared because there was a mutt. But there can't be a mutt. I'm more confused than anything.

I look down at my arms and see the splatter of blood on my arm and my nightgown and on the knife clutched in my left hand. "No, I don't think so."

Luke steps into my room but stays with the bed between us, giving me a barrier in place for now. The barrier is nice. The thing with Luke, and all the other Victors, is that they're predators. On an instinctual level, they scare me. I know they would never hurt me but they scare me anyways. Even Annie scares me on bad days. Luke sits on the edge of the bed. It leaves him relaxed and exposed and non-threatening.

"Are you comfortable down there?" There is a teasing note in his voice. He hates tight spaces. I like them.

I nod. My position is not physically all that comfortable. I'm sitting on top of my foot and it has started to fall asleep. My back and sides being protected always make me feel better. Tight spaces do that easily. The shelter gives me fewer things to worry about, not having to actively protect my flanks.

"Can you tell me what happened?" Luke asks.

I go back through the events. Dove is not actually haunting me, those are just particularly nasty reoccurring nightmares. Survivor's guilt. It's normal, Emily says so.

I got woken up.

"There was a banging noise that woke me up. Then there was a mutt." I hesitate because the mutt isn't fitting in with things. A thought creeps up on me that frightens me more than anything I faced in the arena. "What did I do? Who did I hurt?"

I watch Luke's expression, searching for some hint of how bad things are. He keeps his face calm, an attempt at a reassuring smile to counter the crease between his brows. I want him to stop that. I need him to be honest with me. He moves closer, scooting along the edge of my bed. He reaches out towards me and asks, "Can I have the knife?"

No, _mine_.

Still, he won't tell me anything if I don't give up the knife. I need to know what I did. I reach out and hand Luke the paring knife. He puts it well out of reach.

I ask again, "What did I do?" There is an edge of panic in my voice.

My system is still full of sedatives that make panic harder to feel. They are the only reason I can sleep most nights right now. The panic still comes through, mixing with confusion and fear. I think I hurt my family. No mutts are in my house, only my family.

"You did not do anything wrong." Luke starts with reassurance, which means I did do something wrong. "You did what I taught you to do. You were woken up, and you reacted. Your father was just in the way when he should not have been in here at all."

My stomach churns. Blood and screaming. That hadn't been a mutt. The shouting was not from Jabber Jays.

Luke reaches towards me. "He's okay. Just a little cut."

Voices get louder below. I pick out the sound of footfalls on the stairs. I take Luke's hand and let him pull me to my feet. I sit beside him on the bed and he ruffles my hair. "He's okay. I don't think he'll even need stitches."

A voice gets closer. My mother appears in the doorway.

"What did you do?" She screeches and it hurts my ears.

I do not have an answer for her. Luke is on his feet and has already moved between us. He is trying to talk my mother into leaving but she is refusing to move. She wants to know how I could do this. What was I thinking?

I don't even know what I was thinking. There was panic and that's it.

A thought occurs to me as I remember the rattling noise. The sound of a key in a lock. I keep my door locked from the inside to avoid being woken up. To avoid lashing out at someone. Because the twins used to always wake me up. I've had nightmares about screaming and reacting and wine-dark blood and pale eyes staring into the lands of the dead.

Anger is easier to feel than fear and confusion.

"Why was my door unlocked?" I'm on my feet but do not try to move around Luke. Part of my mind screams at me that she is not an ally, she is a threat. (She's my mother) reminds the calm voice. "This is why I keep it locked, so something like this wouldn't happen. I thought he was a mutt!"

She tries to say it doesn't matter. "There's is no need for locked doors in my house."

Oh, it's her house now. My mistake, I thought this was the Victors' Village.

Last week she complained that my room is the largest and got weird when I pointed out that this is my house, of course I get the largest room. A few days after that, she complained that only I can directly withdraw money from my Victor's stipend. She acts like everything I have is hers. She's trying to take the glory I earned that she passed up by dropping out of training.

She owns nothing that is mine.

"Get out of my house." My voice is calm.

I understand why Emily's voice goes quiet when she is really angry. Because this isn't anger anymore. This is not burning me. It feels cold. It scares me because I haven't felt this before. I am used to hot rage that I must stamp out before it starts to burn me as well. This ice, I have no idea how to deal with.

"What?" My mother blusters.

I lock eyes with her. Well, in my case it is only one eye because I don't sleep with the prosthetic in since it dries out and itches.

My voice remains even, not even threatening to rise, and I repeat, "Get out of my house. It has become very obvious I can't live with you, any of you."

My mother starts shaking her head. "You can't do that."

"You never showed up to any of the competitions, not when I won the 100-meter dash against Demetrius or when I competed in the bouts. You didn't send a single nummus to me in the arena. Not even when I nearly died of blood loss." The anger flares, bright and hot and familiar. My side hurts and my hand spasms and I'm shaking. "You even said no when Min asked if you could give anything for the taffy. You had no part in my victory. Get out of my house!" My voice cracks at the final syllable.

She can't argue with me. It is all true. And she knows it. She can't deny any of it.

My vision goes blurry. I'm crying. I never wanted to deal with any of this. I am faintly aware of Luke getting my mother out of the room.

A shower should make me feel better. Get the blood off. Get the guilt off. I strip off the nightgown and turn the water on. I just sit down under the stream and cry.

Funny. I always dreamed about a time I'd be free of my family. No twins bothering me or tattling on me for some perceived slight. No arguing with my parents over stupid things when I'm obviously right. Now it is happening, I hate myself.

"Lynn?" Luke calls from my room.

"Go away!" My voice is somewhere between a sob and a shout.

I don't want to see him or anyone right now.

"I'll be in the living room if you need me." Is his infuriatingly calm reply.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summer 87**   
**September 5th**

**Luke Seymour**   
**District 4**   
**Victor of the 77th Hunger Games**

Things have been worryingly calm lately, like the still before a violent storm. Compared to how things were a couple of weeks ago, the calm does come as a relief. Lynn has been doing far better than I expected her to be. She is less stressed now, away from her parents and siblings, which will have a lot to do with it.

The relationship with her parents was never good. They argued, but what teenager doesn't argue with their parents. She would be first to leave for the fishing seasons so it wasn't like she never willing went home. The conflicts had never been violent; she never came to training with any bruises not put there by her fellow careers. I guess that made me miss just how bad the dynamics were. A lot of resentment has gone back and forth between Lynn and her parents. 

She still has a support network of all her friends, Jessie and Min being chief among them, and keeps in touch with her uncle Markos and his family. Having support is important for her recovery. She needs people she feels safe around to remain calm and be able to work through things.

I'm always around for her as well. I have to be careful not to hover. Emily keeps comparing me to a mother hen. I am not that bad. And she did the same thing so she has no right to criticize. I did not respond well to it. Lynn does not seem to mind my company.

The mock arena will be in a few weeks and she wants to help. We actually have enough Polis members to have two groups this year, with extras so we'll be doing a third out of those twelve and the final six of the other two arenas.

Letting Lynn help or not proves to be a dilemma. She has undeniable insight, particularly in that she is the first Victor under the new Head Gamemaker, Priscilla Wolfshiem, and knows what her style is like to live through. At the same time, Lynn is still in a very delicate state and we haven't figured out everything that sets her off or even just makes her nervous yet.

Some things are obvious by now, her foot getting caught on things and the scent of orange juice. Those can be avoided easily enough knowing about them. Other things just depend, like being alone or being too exposed. She copes well some days and other days she wedges herself someplace small and I sit with her until she can come out again. I have no idea how she even fits in some of the places I've found her. Hearing voices without seeing their source can also make her panic if she is already on edge and assumes the voice is from a Jabber Jay.

One thing she has complained about extensively is the feeling of being useless and broken and other doubts and worries along that line. Those feelings are familiar and normal. I don't know of any career Victor that hasn't felt that. Even Dawn, who went straight into modeling after the body polish got rid of her scars, still felt aimless for a while.

Lynn's goal in life was to volunteer. Now she has completed that, the future is wide open and that is terrifying. Contributing to the mock arena would give her something distinctly helpful to do. I just don't want it to trigger another round of panic attacks and night terrors.

I have to trust her to know her own limits. If she agrees to stick by either me, Emily, or Xanthos the whole time, we can keep an eye on her. She probably won't mind sticking by Xanthos. The two have become fast friends despite the forty-four year age difference. Complaining about their respective prosthetics seems to be the highlight of their conversations.

A few feet away, Lynn shifts in her sleep. I listen for any words. They are the best indication of a nightmare. The guilt has stuck to her rather badly. Her friendship with Dove caused her to view the tributes as people and six murders weigh heavy on her shoulders. Ajax's death weighs on her, too, even though there was nothing that could have been done to save him from that plant mutt. Even if she had freed him, he would have died from his wounds. She nearly died of the wound she got trying to save him.

However gently I've pointed this out, she acknowledges it factually, yet still feels guilty. Some things I have to force myself to let her work through on her own.

She stays silent and wriggles herself into a warmer patch of sand. The fact she is sleeping in the open marks significant progress.

I should let her help. At least in some planning. It gives her something constructive to do and will help next year's volunteers. This works as an opportunity to teach her how mentoring actually works. There's far more paperwork than expected. If she gets overwhelmed at any point, an exit can be preplanned for her to leave if need be.

Emily will be in the office right now, going over files. I turn my attention back to Lynn sleeping in the sand. Remaining where I am, I call out to her softly, "Lynn."

She bolts upright, already half in a crouch and eyes wide and searching for the opponent waiting for her. No threats are around, real or imagined. She calms back down, clearing her head with a shake and plopping back down into the sand.

"You can help us with the files." I say and wait for her reaction.

She cocks her head. She studies me closely, trying to gauge if I am humoring her or am serious. She probes, "Really?"

I stand up and tell her, "Come on. A new pair of eyes will be nice."

She gets up and chuckles to herself before commenting, "I'm not a quite a pair."

Self-deprecating humor has become a favorite tactic of hers for coping. There's worse vices.

I reach over and ruffle her hair. She bats my hand away. Always a good sign when she fights back against my teasing. 

We start to head back into town. She practically bounces as she walks beside me. She keeps glancing over at me, which is a little weird since her prosthetic stays largely fixed in place because of the damage to the orbital muscles. Eventually, she blurts, "Can I see my file?"

Files on all volunteers are archived. Something between posterity and trying to learn what goes wrong or goes right. We still have my file. The notes in two hands, Finnick's for the first three years and Emily's for the last two.

"Not all of it is flattering." I point out and she studies me back.

She's always doing that now. Analyzing every person who speaks with her. She judges motivation and how genuine they are being, things of that nature. I try my best to be completely honest and upfront with her at all times, not wanting to violate her trust, but sometimes things need to go slower than she would like. Telling her bad news when she's in the middle of a panic attack will never help.

The only time she drops the guard is around Jessie and Min. They aren't threats to her at all. The caution should help keep her safer in the Capitol. It will make her good with sponsors.

"Does it actually say I'm a pyromaniac?"

"Emily penciled in that you have tendencies. You do enjoy setting things on fire a bit too much."

Lynn laughs. "I didn't even start the fire."

Like a switch being flipped, her mood immediately plummets. Her shoulders hunch and she mumbles something I can't make out. Even a small reference to Dove causes this reaction. I give her a few moments to see if she wants to say something first.

"I hate how much it still hurts." She murmurs. "Three weeks. Shouldn't hurt when I only knew her for three weeks. Not this much."

I never know how to reply when she's like this. I don't understand the pain. I killed because I had to, so did she. All of us kill because we have to. Even the Victors from District 2 only do it because they had to, the real sadists never make it to the final four because the Capitol puts down the mad dogs before they have a real shot at becoming Victor.

I never cared about any of them. There was some guilt sure, because I killed another person, but not the intense pain like she feels.

Doing my best is all I can do. "You cared. Time doesn't matter when you cared."

She nods. "Still. How could I wind up caring about her so much after knowing her for such a short time?"

"She did save your life more than once. The two of you traveled together for two weeks in the arena and relied on each other. That bound you together."

Lynn hums in acknowledgment. She un-hunches her shoulders but her eyes remain downcast. "She was dangerous, right? Leaving her alive would have been a mistake. She knew how bad the wound to my side was."

This train of thought from her surprises me. And it gives me some hope for her progress. "You would have likely lost a fair fight against her. 

We climb the steps that take us up from the beach to the pier. Her steps are light as we cross the wooden boards. One of the sounds that bothers her is boots thunking on wood, a reminder of the walkways surrounding the Cornucopia. I attempt to move quietly and am not nearly as successful at it as Lynn is.

We step onto one of the main streets and start working our way to the office next to the Justice Building. We pass a by a few people, some shop keeps and some night fishermen preparing for the evening. Some recognize us and wave. Lynn waves back and her mood improves with the distraction. She actually smiles for a moment.

Our walk over to the office proves to be rather uneventful. Lynn is in as good of a mood as can be expected. I would still like her to be on some of the mood stabilizers to give her the calm to work things out but the side effects are not worth it, the nausea and drowsiness made her immobile half the time. There is no way for her to work out her fears and her regrets when she's unconscious. Even the sedatives, or anti-anxiety medication or whatever the doctors are calling them, make her nauseous. She is rather small and the doctors can't seem to figure out a low enough dose to be effective without major side effects.

Some of the stronger anti-anxiety meds, which is what she needs the most, aren't meant to be used on teenagers. At least that's what I think the doctors meant. They said something about "adolescent neuro-chemistry being too unstable for proper alternations."

I hate the Capitol psychologists. Lynn hates them even more. Won't talk to them and bristles at the suggestion of doing anything they say to. I sometimes have to "forget" to mention some advice comes from them. 

I hope most of her anxiety is manageable before she is old enough to take the stronger stuff.

We reach the office and I open the door and head inside first. Lynn trails in behind me. She sticks on the closer side to the walls. It's a habit most of us have. The chairs are set up so no one has their back to the door or any of the hallways.

Emily glances up from the files. She grins, "Yes. Now I have two of you to help me with the shit-ton of paperwork."

Lynn is not used to Emily's swearing yet and stifles a laugh. Emily tries to behave around the careers since the Capitol has little fondness for televised profanities and swearing could cut screen time due to censorship, so we don't want any of them to pick up the habit. Around other Victors, Emily has a mouth that would put even the northernmost sailors to shame when she puts her mind to it.

Lynn takes the spot next to Emily while I go get the files from my cabinet. Hyacinth and Susan are my top picks still. I'll include Marin, too, and Delphinia can make up for her mistake of trusting Lynn last year. That still leaves plenty of spots for Lynn to help with selection.

Looking over at her, Lynn seems happy. Emily shows her the format for the files, where we list the different kinds of information. There are basic physical statistics, weapon proficiencies, and a psychological profile. Emily has Jason's file out and shows Lynn some of the older pictures of her cousin. She hasn't seen some of them and laughs at the picture where he's missing a front tooth. Taking her here was the right decision.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summer 87**   
**September 13th**

**Lynn Rayna**   
**District 4**   
**Victor of the 87th Hunger Games**

The market is already filled by the time I reach the square. I wanted to see the stalls getting put up, but overslept. Oversleeping is still strange when it happens. I'm used to being up by daybreak. Sedatives really mess with my sleeping schedule. They force me to sleep eight hours a night, not the six I'm used to having. Sleeping through the night is impossible without them most of the time so I have to learn to live with it. 

Xanthos is with me today. Luke doesn't like me going out on my own yet. His concerns are valid, I'll admit that, given the panic attacks. It still makes me feel like a little kid, not allowed to go anywhere without a responsible adult.

Luckily for me, Xanthos is rather difficult to classify as a responsible adult.

He teaches the Small Fry, the first three years in the Polis Program, and with the actual little kids, there's no one I'd trust more with them. He's patient and understanding and the right balance of authoritative and accommodating. With me, when I was in Otter and now as a Victor, he is one of the best partners in crime I could ever ask for. He was in full support of the burning-the-cornucopia plan.

I stick to the outskirts of the market. Crowds are rough. Too many unknowns, things I can't control, potential threats everywhere. Xanthos' solid presence beside me helps stifle the worst of the fear. He makes for a good ally. I know I should try to stops thinking like that but it is habit and I don't think I even know another way to look at people. Everyone is an ally, not an ally, or an enemy, at some level or another. Other layers get added on, like family, friend, or career, but fundamentally I judge others based on their usefulness in the arena. But the arena is over a month behind me.

The normal stalls are set up with their colorful awnings. Designs advertising the goods and services offered at the stall are painted on the tattered canvas scraps. Most are being used as swap tables instead, with plenty of extra tables being set up, too. The air is filled with the cry of gulls and the sound of people talking. 

Kids run around the market or sit in little groups eating candy. People haggle and trade with each other, many trying to trade the luxuries from the parcels for things they need, like sail cloth, rope, and bait. Many of them live in the lower wharfs towards the southern end of Main Port, where the wide harbor offers the least protection and storms do the most damage. Some are even down here from some of the cannery towns; Cannery 1, mostly, since it is the closest and they can catch a cargo train ride back and forth between there and Main Port. They trade in scrap metal and frozen blocks of bait chum and machinery parts. It is good to see the whole District coming together, which is part of the point of the Hunger Games. District Pride.

The celebrations for the first Parcel Day are always largest. I missed it. Too busy hiding between the wall and nightstand from imaginary Jabber Jays that had stolen my voice to shout "die" at me again.

This is what I wanted. Parcel Days. The District happy again and all because of me. We are back in our proper place. A Career District with a new Career Victor. Six kills, a new set record. I may not have felt it most of the time, but I was a proper career.

Yet this is not something I should be proud of. I killed six people. Brutally. Horribly. All of those I killed came from Districts that need the boon of Parcel Day more than District 4. District 12, especially.

But at least there is Parcel Day here, with the market and the bartering, and that will have to be enough honor to balance out the horror.

"Lynn," Xanthos' low voice breaks my concentration, "do you need to head back?"

I don't know how long I've been standing here, caught up in my thoughts. I've only gotten worse about getting caught in my head. There are never enough things to occupy my hands with.

I shake my head. "No, I'm fine." I try to think of something that will occupy my mind better than the battle of pride and regret. "Annie said she wanted to make thumbprint cookies later this week. Let's go see if we can find some jam for her."

Despite my resolution to get Annie some jam, I stick close to Xanthos and hesitate to plunge into the crowd. I'm grateful for the fact no one has seemed to take any real notice of me. Unfortunately, Xanthos has a more distinctive appearance and he is easily recognized by the crowds, who in turn recognize me standing next to him.

Suddenly, there are so many people. They want to shake my hand and kiss my cheek and thank me for the parcels and the hope and the pride. One woman bought a new motor for her boat and another man can finally get a leaky hull repaired. Sail cloth and baby clothes have been bargained for or bought. One boy excitedly tells me his mom got enough sugar to make a cake for his birthday this year. He'll be turning twelve tomorrow. Reaping age.

I expect it to be like the banquet after the recap, but it isn't. Because this isn't the Capitol. This is District 4. These are my people. They are neighbors and friends and friends of friends and even some relatives. My aunt Hina is here, even, a pair of new boots tucks under one arm and a new jacket draped over the other. Even with the complete strangers, I'm sure I could find some kind of connection if I looked for one hard enough.

The press of people is still completely overwhelming, but I have to motivation to keep it together. Things calm back down soon enough when the novelty wears off and everyone is back to business. Xanthos finds some jam for sale and I buy a couple of jars for Annie, and a jar of strawberry jam for myself. Luckily that was not one of the things the arena ruined for me. I still love strawberry jam.

I buy a new scarf, it's brown with little stripes of red and tan at the ends. For now it gets used as a makeshift sling to carry my jars of jam.

I've had enough of people for the day and it's time to head home. Tomorrow I can bake cookies with Annie. We do that a lot, the Village's resident crazies baking together. I get brought food a lot, partially because Luke doesn't fully trust me with large knives and partially because I can't cook, and feel bad about having nothing to give in return so I'll bake with Annie and deliver the cookies since I have an easier time leaving my house.

I start looking for the clearest path back towards the Victor's Village, even if it won't be the shortest. Xanthos notices and guides me away on a path he partially clears himself with firm 'nudges' from his cane as necessary.

We clear the worst of the crowd and head down the street running behind the main square. The lack of people is lovely. It feels like I can breathe again. 

There is a flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye. I turn to see a little boy running up to me. Unarmed, wearing too big shoes with undone laces, ratty jeans, and a red shirt.

He skids to a stop in front of me. He has a mess of black hair and dark brown, almond shaped eyes, pearl diver lineage like aunt Hina. I don't recognize him. Bouncing from foot to foot, he squeaks, "Hi."

I'd guess he is only around six or seven. Younger than the twins at any rate. I kneel down so I'm on the same level as him. As I kid I hated being loomed over. Figure it doesn't hurt to be on the same level as him. "Hello."

He is basically vibrating with excitement. "I wanna volunteer like you did."

I picture this little boy ten years from now, a young man at that point, in the arena, a bloody weapon in hand. I picture him lying in a coffin. I picture him choking down sedatives to get through the night. (Every kind of those mind-numbing pills tastes bitter.)

The images fill me with dread and I want to tell him no, he does not want to volunteer. But I don't say that. I smile and ask, "What's your name? So I know who to ask for when I'm starting my Polis."

That's what Luke said to me. Did he feel the same dread in the pit of his stomach as I do now, looking at this child who does not know what they truly desire? I'm rather certain he did, because there is no other way to feel.

"Kaito." He beams at me. "I'm Kaito Hamasaki."

Just like me, when I was his age, remember to include my last name because that's important when talking to grown-ups, because grown-ups always want to know your last name for some reason.

"Well, Kaito Hamasaki, I bet I'll be seeing you around more. Keep up in school and listen to your parents and I'll make sure there's room in my Polis for you once you're thirteen."

I failed at both those things, but got into Otter anyways. Most of us do poorly in school and don't listen to our parents. It takes a certain kind of dysfunctional to be a career. Most don't have good home lives. Jason is one of the few exceptions I can think of.

But that dysfunction isn't something we want to encourage. It's just used when it's already there. 

This is what it really means to be a Career District. This script back and forth. Generation to generation. Victors and the little kids that look up to us and want to volunteer. It keeps it so the odds are in our favor, whatever the cost to ourselves. Two willing sacrifices offered up, so the unwilling do not have to go.

A girl appears from the same direction Kaito had. She is a couple years older than him; judging by the height difference and worried frown, likely an older sister.

She grabs him by the arm and scolds him, "I told you not to run off. We're going home."

Without even looking at me or Xanthos, she marches Kaito off in the direction they had come from. Kaito twists around to wave back at me, "Bye, Lynn."

I stand back up and stare after the two retreating figures. It occurs to me that I should apologize to Luke for telling him I wanted to volunteer. Might also apologize for going through with it, for that matter.

"Come on, kiddo." Xanthos wraps an arm around my shoulder and starts to guide me back in the right direction. "Leave the small fry to me."

I go along with him. Wait, he called me kiddo. "I thought Luke was kiddo?"

Xanthos laughs and explains, "The youngest Victor is kiddo. It's your title for now. Let's hope it doesn't last for too long."

If the odds are in Jason's favor, he'll be kiddo by this time next year. He'll hate the title. Or would I still be kiddo since I'm three weeks younger than him?


	4. Chapter 4

**Fall 87**   
**September 23rd**

**Lynn Rayna**   
**District 4**   
**Victor of the 87th Hunger Games**

The trains running between the ports and canneries of the District smell faintly of their cargo. Old cargo. The scent of fresh fish does not both me at all. Guts don't even bother me. Rotten fish will always be unpleasant. I sit between Luke and Clara and watch the others joke and jostle each other. Others does not seems quite right. I'm not one of them anymore.

This was me last year, though. We were down by the cove that time. I had teamed up with Delphinia. We skirted most of the bloodbath, grabbed a couple of packs. I turned on her, got her in the back with a knife and took her supplies. After that, I hid up in the rocks, wedged myself twenty feet up and stayed there while everyone else fought it out. I only came down to get water and take naps in some of the rock piles. Other than that, up on the cliffs was the safest place.

In an actual arena I would have been forced down earlier by Gamemakers and a bored audience, but the theory of the strategy is what I wanted to test. It took Luke over a day to figure out where I had hidden myself.

At the final six, I climbed back down to the beach. Had a spear and a net in the end I scooped up from Demetrius right after Susan took him out. I snuck up on her; she hadn't been expecting me to appear so suddenly. Everyone left had lost track of me and the number left and assumed I had already 'died' days before.

Came in third. Hyacinth got me in the gut with a knife. Close quarters combat has always been a weak point for me. The scars I have now only serve to prove that.

The time is the only indicator of how close we are to Cannery 1. No windows in a cargo hold to see the landscape around us. We have the door to the hold cracked open for a breeze. That little I can see outside is dominated by sections of concrete tunnels and miles of electric fence that line the tracks.

A valley lays a few miles from the town and that is where the mock arena will be set up this year. The boundaries are marked off with ropes and flag markers. A spring acts as a source of water and various plants and animals can serve as food. A crash course in survival skills. They have to make the choice, fight in the 'bloodbath' against their fellow careers, or take to the woods. Worst case scenario, twenty-four well trained volunteers. It makes for a difficult fight and makes sure only the best make it to the end. 

Emily has gone ahead of us to survey the area. She knows more about plants and animals than the rest of us and can identify anything particularly dangerous so no career winds up dead because they ate nightlock berries or something.

Mock arenas do focus more on tracking and strategy than just survival skills because we don't want actual casualties. Everyone is given a day's worth of food and water from the start. If they want anything else, they have to fight for it or they could have studied edible plants or how to hunt and risk doing that. It's not unlike the actual arena, which is the point.

Everyone is given a flare gun with two flares, a green one if someone is actually injured and needs help, and a red flare for when they 'die' in the mock arena. Sometimes mentors will go into the arena. A while back, it was decided that mentors in the arena were mutts and have to be fought off if they're armed. I wonder if Luke will let me do that. If so, I'm going to go find Jason and kick is his ass.

Alliances are always formed. Most of the time, friends team up together, though it gets discouraged so friendships don't form in the actual arena. That doesn't work too well. I know that very personally. My alliance with Delphinia taught me how to betray a friend so I could go through with it. I knew what had to be done, so maybe letting people team up with friends can work if they are ruthless enough after the alliance is over. I found a way to do it.

We should be getting close to Cannery 1 by now. I poke my head out the gap in the door and can see the train station up ahead. The huge cannery factory rises up behind it. Most of what they do is mainly quick freezing the fish to send it directly to the Capitol, though some actual canning takes place with stuff like caviar from the sturgeon farms in the north part of Main Port.

The train begins to slow. The cargo trains are massive and it takes them a while to slow to a stop without damaging anything. The drop in speed indicates we're around ten minutes from getting off. The train will be at a stop in closer to fifteen minutes, but who said we had wait until the train has stopped moving to get off?

It is an important lesson in controlled falling. The technique I had to learn train jumping is what let me roll instead of fall when I slipped down the hill.

I pull my head back in. We wait a while as the breaks screech against the rails.

Luke and Clara get the doors, pulling them open all the way. A hush falls over the careers. They cluster in groups by Polis. We have enough to run two full arenas and a third with the top. Some of the younger careers, the thirteen and fourteen year olds, have really pushed themselves and are doing amazing. My victory gave them hope and motivation. I would never had volunteered has it not been for my memories of Luke's victory. 

I stand and get in position by the doors. I'm making the call this year, giving the order for the Polis groups to jump out in. It is a ranking of which groups are doing best and which we trust to make the highest speed jumps. The largest responsibility I've been given has been to do the call. They let me come, so I shouldn't pout. 

I can start picking out individual trees as the train continues to slow. Couple more minutes. I look back at the familiar faces of the careers, many of whom I've trained alongside since I was ten, some more familiar than others. This time next year, at least one of them will be dead. It's probably going to be Jason and Susan volunteering. We all know that. Mock arenas are better for picked out who is volunteering two or three years in advance.

The whistling of the wind lessens and I glance over at Luke. He nods, figuring the speed is slow enough as well.

I turn back to the careers. "Alright, make your mentors proud, everyone. Barracuda, you're out."

Jason is the first out, arcing into an easy roll. The other Barracudas follow close behind, some rolling into each other. Emily teaches them to be vicious. Barracuda does not have the same kind of comradery we have in Otter.

"Otter, out."

Susan is first out of the Otters, with Hyacinth right behind her. No one runs into each other. We're careful. And we're best and should have gone out first.

"Alligator, out."

Clara's Alligators actually look a bit surprised to not be the last out this year. They jump at the opportunity and manage to not obviously injure themselves on the way out.

"Crab, out."

The Crabs are more subdued this year. The last one out of the train is Ajax's sister, Medea. They should not have lost one of their own. But they did and it is a wound that runs deep. He did not even die in combat. Ajax was eaten by a plant because I failed to save him. Medea claims she does not blame me. I doubt that.

I am left alone in the car with Luke and Clara.

Mentors do not jump out of trains. It is a combination of risky and undignified. I'm not technically a mentor yet. I don't have a Polis, nor have I actually mentored in the Capitol. On that front, there is nothing stopping me from jumping. The train has slowed a great deal by now as well. I'll be fine.

Before Luke and Clara can start to close the door, I make my jump. My form is good, head tucked close, guiding with the arm, and taking the brunt of the impact on my shoulder, rolling to the opposite hip, and then springing to my feet.

Taking a few steps to regain my balance, I look up at the train and can see Luke poking his head out from the door, looking back at me. I wave.

My shoulder hurts and my head swims a bit from the spinning, but this is the most alive I've felt since I woke up on the cot in Recovery. My heart pounds with the rush and I suck in a large lungful of air.

The careers swarm me. They clap me on the back, Jason intentionally targeting my sore shoulder. He jostles me and asks, "Trying to steal my thunder, cuz?"

I laugh at him and jostle back. "Sorry, who's already a Victor between the two of us? I think you're trying to steal my thunder."

"I'm getting a walkway built between our houses in the village." Jason announces, as he has been doing for the past three years. "I'll be able to come a bother you whenever I want."

Even with how much as he annoys me, I really hope that walkway gets built.

As a group, all sixty-one of us break into a run. A few pull ahead early but I know they will over exert themselves and fall to the back before we reach Cannery 1. I did that during last year's run. I stick comfortably in the middle of the group. Jason races ahead of me.

Hyacinth could be going faster but he falls into a steady lope beside me. (Don't blush.)

I can feel the heat rising in my face despite my mental commands to not blush. He doesn't seem to notice. He glances over at me and asks, "Were you told you could jump?"

I consider lying and saying yes, I was allowed to jump out of a moving train. But if he's asking, that means the fact I was not told I could is obvious. So I'm honest. "Nope."

"Luke's going to be pissed, isn't he?"

"Maybe-almost-certainly very, very mad. In my defense, he never explicitly said I couldn't."

"I could tell him it was my idea."

"Nah, I got it. Might deserve being yelled at a bit." I look over at him and smile. "Thanks for having my back. I got yours, too."

"I know you do." Hyacinth returns me smile and says, "I'm going to go tackle Jason now. He's left himself wide open and you'll be a great distraction."

Hyacinth breaks into a sprint. Jason knows what's coming but is not fast enough to get away. The two tumble to the ground and the rest of us part around them. Hyacinth might not come in first in this unofficial race, but Jason won't either.

The train station comes into sight up ahead. The train has stopped and Luke and Clara stand on the platform. Luke has his arms crossed. The certainly very mad is proving to be correct.

I stick to the center of the crowd. For once I am glad about how short I am. We all get closer to the platform and I am still in with the front half of the runners.

From his position on the platform, Luke calls, "Lynn."

He hasn't raised his voice above what he needs to. And it's not a low growl either. He's not that mad, then. I think. (I hope.)

The crowd around me parts a bit. Even if I wanted to hide, I can't anymore. May as well own up to it.

I break into a sprint and easily clear the remainder of the distance. Jumping, I catch the edge of the platform and haul myself up.

Luke stares down at me, one brow arched, and asked, "Proud of yourself?"

"Yep."

He shakes his head. There's a smile tugging at the corner of his lips though, so he's not really mad like I was worried he'd be.

"Don't make it a habit." He reaches over and ruffles my hair. "I'm glad you had fun."

I bat his hand away because he's being embarrassing.

Luke turns to the crowd of careers. He raises his voice to be heard by everyone. "Alright, listen up. I was going to start by saying you'll be able to go after each other once you get your equipment, but it appears some of you have already started."

Hyacinth and Jason stand in the back of the group next to each other. Dust coats both of them. Jason is glaring daggers at Hyacinth and he could not care less.

Luke continues. "Packs are at the gate. Group One, you'll go with Emily. Group Two, you'll go with Xanthos. Group Three, you'll stay back here. Remember, no blows to the face or neck or the spine. If someone has beaten you, red flare. Even if you think the call is wrong, red flare, and we'll settle it. Now, head out."


	5. Chapter 5

**Fall 87**   
**October 17th**

**Lynn Rayna**   
**District 4**   
**Victor of the 87th Hunger Games**

The hoop gets good distance this time as I toss it across the yard. My hand might not work and my distance vision is impaired because the prosthetic is not perfect, but I still have a good throwing arm.

I massage my spasming right hand, trying to work the tension out of the twitching tendons. It does nothing to help but the pain distracts me and dulls the frustration. I've even been doing all the stupid squeezing and stretching "physical therapy" exercises the Capitol doctors instructed me to do. The deep scars on the back of my hand are the only outward sign of the internal mess of right hand.

Driving my left thumb deeper into my palm, I try to work the knot out at the lower knuckle of my middle finger. Tweed's knife completely severed the tendons on the back of my hand attached to my pointer and middle fingers, and damaged the third one attached to my ring and pinky fingers. A couple bones were fractured and some of the underside tendons were damaged, too. Then the neurotoxin he coated his knife made an even bigger mess of things. The doctors have explained the damage in more technical terms, naming the individual tendons and muscles groups and nerve bundles damaged.

All I care is how much my hand hurts right now and will continue to hurt since it can't be fixed. Given some time, they might be able to go in and fix more damage once the current scar tissue finishes settling. The healing needs to be done before they can go in the see what else can be fixed.

The thing is, I'm not sure if they want to fix it all. The risk of further nerve damage only explains the scars on my hand. The scar on my side should be able to be fixed. There are plastic skin graft things that doctors use for burns that would work. I must not be valuable enough to salvage and that is bitter-sweetly amazing. No one cares strongly that I look good naked. The black envelopes still exist. But I might not get that many.

My hand is useless sometimes, like it is right now. Massaging it does give my other hand something to do which is the only bright side possible in all of this. My hand gets worse when I'm stressed, because my body tenses, which puts more tension on my hand which will then start to spasm and shake, the fingers locking up in not quite a first. This of course makes me frustrated, which makes me tenser, which makes the spasms even worse. The cycle continues like that until I can force myself to calm back down. I am bad at being calm.

The frustration this time came from my hand getting stiff while working on embroidery. I chose it as my talent and regret it. I like embroidery and cross stitching and other crafts like that. It keeps my hands busy. When I can't even hold the needle steady it becomes far less enjoyable. Nerve damage makes keeping my hands occupied a far greater ordeal than before, which means a lot more getting stuck in my head.

The hoop appears back in my field of vision. I look up. Annie holds it out towards me. "You almost made it to the other side of Luke's porch this time."

That was a good throw. I accept the hoop back. Annie looks into the distance and I wait for her to remember where she is. At least she doesn't have to cover her ears this time, which means she's not hearing anything. She'll be back quickly enough.

People call her crazy but she just gets lost sometimes. I get lost too, like when I wake up and can't figure out if I'm home or in the arena. Sometimes I hear people talking and I have no idea if it is really them or if it's Jabber Jays that sounds like them. The biggest difference is that Annie gets lost more easily and has a harder time coming back. That doesn't make her crazy, though, especially now I've gotten to know her better. I think she might be the sanest one here since the Capitol thinks she damaged goods and leaves her alone.

Emily compares getting lost to being sick. Instead of having a stuffy nose or a cough, you hear things that aren't there or don't realize where you are. She uses that argument to make me listen to the Capitol doctors. I don't like the Capitol doctors.

Dr. Felis, the one in charge of my hand and eye, is okay; she's practical, even if some of the exercises don't make sense. She tries to explain things to me at least in terms I sometimes understand. One day I put my eye in the wrong way, so some of the connections connected in the wrong spots and some weren't connected at all. I could see, but I couldn't and everything was moving weird and I understandably panicked. Luke called her and she talked me through how to take it out safely and line it up properly so I wouldn't do that again.

It's the psychologist doctor, Dr. Hirria, I really dislike. He talks about acute distress disorder and post traumatic distress disorder and anxiety and depression. The therapy things he tells me to do are dumb, like write down what I'm feeling and think happy thoughts. How is thinking happy thoughts going to help me get over the fact I've killed six people?

Annie finds herself again. Her eyes refocus and she looks over to me. "I was going to bake some cookies. Do you want to help?"

"Sure, I'm not making any progress here. Might as well be useful instead."

I set my embroidery hoop down again and follow Annie back to her house. Spending time with Annie is nice. An understanding exists between us about certain things. Getting lost in our own minds. Losing our District partners.

I've been to her house plenty of times now. Technically it's Finnick's house. We don't reuse houses in the Village so the old houses remain standing as they were before the Victor's death. The reason we can keep houses unused is part of the deal Albatross and Mags made with the Capitol when the Polis Program was started. Old houses can be used a Polis quarters, either as office space or bunks when we have too many people around for the warehouse bunks. The only rule is that the families of deceased Victors can't still live in the houses.

The contrast within is always a bit strange. There are the areas that are still used, where you can tell where only one person lives there. The brightly lit kitchen being the main one. Then there are the corners that still have traces of Finnick left. A pair of boots and a coat that are obviously too large for Annie are in the hallway closet. A perpetually unfinished piece of macrame knot work sit on a side table in the living room. And there's a picture of the two of them on the mantle. They're smiling and the sun is shining and they are as close to married as a pair of Victors is allowed to be. Small traces left of a dead man are scattered around his house.

We enter through the back door which takes us right to the kitchen. The ingredients are already laid out, butter softening on the counter and eggs coming to room temperature. Why the temperature of ingredients matters, I still haven't figured out, but Annie knows what she's doing so I go along with it.

There is a spot cleared on the counter where I perch myself. This has become my spot as I've started coming over more frequently. I enjoy Annie's company. She doesn't worry over me like Luke and Emily do. Plus, she's quiet and moves in a way that somehow never startles me. I try to move the same way around her and find I don't startle her as much either when I do it.

There's a predictability to the movement, purposefully not hiding how you're tensing, and making sure the direction of your motions is known. It's the opposite of how I was taught to move in a fight, where you tense only the split second before you move to make sure your opponent can't tell which way you're going. I find it difficult to move predictably all the time, but for Annie I make the effort. 

Annie passes me a bowl that contains the bag of flour and a measuring cup. "Two and a half cups, please."

I measure out the flour as Annie gets out her electric mixer. Baking was her talent so she still has all the equipment the Capitol supplied her with. The equipment is as old as I am. Well, depending on when it was made I might have a couple months on it. I was around seven months old when Annie became Victor.

When I'm done measure the flour, I pass the bowl to Annie. She adds baking powder and coca to the bowl then hands it back to me. I stir the dry ingredients together while she starts mixing the butter and sugar together. After the butter and sugar are done being "creamed," Annie takes out a little bottle of vanilla extract and adds a couple of drops to the batter.

My right hand begins to tense so I have to switch to mixing with my left hand. Annie notices and asks, "Have the exercises helped?"

I shrug. "A bit, not as much as I'd like." She holds out her hand for the bowl and I pass it over to her. "I can let go of things after I've started going tense now, so that's some progress."

Annie asking questions does not bother me as much as others doing it. She asks about specific things, not general questions that get overwhelming.

An egg gets added into the mixer then Annie starts scooping in the flour mix. It is silent except for the whirring of the mixer.

I massage my hand again. The tenseness is still present, but not as bad as it got embroidering.

"Do you want apricot or plum jam?"

It's a chocolate cookie. Both are good choices. Strawberry is the best but it's not an option. "Apricot."

Annie gets the jar of apricot jam from the pantry and sets it to the side for when it's time to fill the cookies. She starts to hum to herself as she works. I recognize the tune and start to sing along.

"Leave her Johnny, leave her! Oh, leave her Johnny, leave her."

Annie sings the next line.

"For the voyage is long and the winds don't blow and it's time for us to leave her."

The dough is done mixing now and we start for form it into balls, singing as we work. "Leave her Johnny" is a pump song, but it works just as well for making cookies as it does pumping bilge out of the hold of a ship before dry docking.

The cookies fill two trays of twenty each, meaning there will be plenty to go around. We press wells into the center of each ball of dough and use the last of the apricot jam I got Annie on Parcel Day to fill each one. Annie puts the tray in the oven while I set the timer. We sit in silence, Annie at the kitchen table and me still up on the counter. There is no need for us to fill the silence.

More of my time has been spent baking cookies and cupcakes than doing anything else productive lately. The Victory Tour is still over a month away so I have time to finish the embroidery. My hand just needs to cooperate.

There are only two more embroidery pieces I need to do, including the one in the hoop on my porch. The pieces still have to be approved by Irene. I've learned escorts have a lot more to do than just reading two names every year. They help pick stylists and prep team members and contact sponsors. Irene even sent me a list of potential talents, like playing violin like Xanthos or singing like Luke. I didn't need it since I'd already picked embroidery, but I appreciated the thought.

The last embroidery pieces will be the most important one. I've been putting it off until the last. It's kind of two pieces in one. Two portraits. Ajax and Dove, my allies.

The timer goes off and I jump. So does Annie. We really need to find a better way to keep track of time.

I turn the timer off to stop the incessant beeping while Annie pulls the cookies out of the oven. She sets the tray down on the counter to cool before putting them on a rack to cool all the way. Personally, I like the cookies best when they're still hot. I reach for one and Annie swats my hand away.

"I'm out of burn cream, so no more burning yourself." She chides.

She turns to reach for the cooling racks. I reach out for a cookie again, because I won't burn myself. This time. Last time was a fluke and it wasn't even a bad burn. I have nerve damage, it isn't like I feel much of it.

"No." Annie doesn’t even turn around.

"'No' what?"

She pulls a cooling rack down from the shelf and looks back at me. "Don't play dumb, Lynn. I saw your shadow move."

Sometimes I forget Annie still has career senses. Like watching shadows and listening for the rustle of fabric to track someone's movements. She wins this round.


	6. Chapter 6

**Fall 87**   
**November 9th**

**Luke Seymour**   
**District 4**   
**Victor of the 77th Hunger Games**

A sudden downpour has forced me under the bakery's awning. The sun shower will pass quickly enough, no sense in getting wet trying to run to the office since it will be over by the time I would get there and all I'll do is just get soaked. I could buy a muffin while I'm waiting.

It appears something else has agreed with my decision to hide under the awning. I track the movement of something small and furry cowering under a box. The furry thing mews.

It's a kitty.

I crouch down by the box. The kitten mews again from deeper in its rather soggy shelter.  
I have to stifle a sneeze. Curse my allergy, otherwise I'd have ten cats already. At any rate, there is a kitten caught in the rain and I must fix this, allergy or no allergy. Emily says my need to take care of cats is obsessive and driven by remaining survivor's guilt. I say I just like cats.

The kitten continues to mew. I look around for the signs of its mother or any siblings that might come crawling out of shelters of their own. Nothing.

I wait until the rain lets up. No mother cat slinks by to fetch its wayward young. I even move over to the front of the sweet shop to make sure I'm not scaring the mother away.

After nearly half an hour, the sky starts to darken again and there is no sign of anything coming back for the kitten. I slip off my jacket and get ready. Holding my jacket in one hand, I lift the box with the other. The kitten puffs up and attempts to hiss at me. It is a tiny little thing. It could be the runt of the litter, which would explain why its mother has not returned for it. She's just not looking. At least she didn't eat it.

The kitten continues its attempts at intimidation. Poor little one. I toss my jacket over the kitten and it gives a particularly indignant mew. I scoop it up and hold it close to my chest. It's shivering from the wet and cold. It will need to be fed, too. I'll need to head back home. I have some supplies tucked away for circumstances like this. There's more than one ship that can thank me for its resident cat.

So much for going to the office. Lynn and Emily will be fine on their own.

Wait.

Assuming Emily is correct on at least some of the survivor's guilt stuff, she's not when it comes to me but with Lynn she is, finding the kitten could be a very fortunate thing. Lynn likes cats, and Min's cat Nougat loves Lynn. Lynn could have the kitten, which would give her something productive to do. She'd be able to fix something. It would allow her to feel useful. The kitten could also act as a companion to her, making her feel less alone. Without anyone living with her, her house in the Victors Village must feel empty. The kitten could help fill the void.

And there'd be a cat next door for me to play with. I have to admit part of this plan is based only of the fact I want a cat but can't have one, because Elly will see right through me when she learns about this. I would help Lynn take care of the kitten, because it would be unfair to just give her a burden with no support. 

Everyone wins. The kitten gets a home. Lynn gets a kitten. And I get a kitten next door.  
Hopefully Lynn wants a kitten.

I rearrange my bundle of jacket and kitten, swaddling the little ball of mews so its head sticks out of my jacket. I stroke its head and stifle another sneeze.

It is so cute. It's all brown with big green eyes. It needs a name. But I shouldn't name it, since it isn't my kitten.

Its eyes are clear and its nose is dry. I hold it closer and stifle a sneeze so I can listen for anything wrong. The heartbeat is strong, if quick, but I've frightened the poor thing. The breathing has a wheeze to it. It could have the cat version of a chest cold. Hopefully, it is just due to the weather and nothing more severe like an infection.

The walk over to the office is uneventful, with the exception of trying not to sneeze and failing. It scares the kitten each time and I feel bad. Reaching the office, the greatest challenge is opening the door with an armful of kitten. I can't knock, either, because of the same hands being full of kitten problem. I kick the door a couple of times instead.

Hopefully Lynn answers. I could do without the lecture Emily will give me.

The door opens.

Emily looks at me, then at the kitten, then back to me. "Really? The fuck, Luke?"

I sneeze and the kitten mews and we're both soaking wet. It's a good enough reply.

Emily shakes her head but leaves the door open so I can come inside. I close the door behind me with a push of my foot. Heading over to the table, I set the bundle of jacket and kitten next to the form Lynn had been filling out.

She seems pleased by the interruption. Extending her hand, she lets the kitten sniff her fingertips before stroking its head. She looks up and asks, "Where did you find it?"

"By the bakery." I sit down across from Lynn and say, "You can have it, if you want."

Her face lights up. She glances up at me and asks, "Really?"

I nod and Lynn gently picks up the kitten still bundled in my jacket. She cradles it close to her chest. The kitten mews at her. She strokes its head and talks to it. "I bet you're hungry. Aren't you lucky Luke found you? Poor little one, out in the rain. I'm going take care of you."

The kitten continues to mew and butts its head against Lynn's hand. It likes her. It's so cute. I'm pretty sure I'm grinning like an idiot right now. But I don't care, because there's a cute kitty and a happy Lynn.

Emily shakes her head and says, "Let's go take care of your new cat, you two."

She's just jealous because we have a kitty now.

Lynn, still cradling the kitten in her arms, announces, "I'm going to name him Kelp."

The newly named Kelp mews in apparent approval at the name.

* * *

**Fall 87**   
**November 17th**

**Lynn Rayna**   
**District 4**   
**Victor of the 87th Hunger Games**

Risking your life for the chance at something better is not something I should be criticizing. The difference is that the Hunger Games only kill twenty-three a year, though only around six go in willingly. Crabbing season can kill more, and it maims even more than it kills. There's enough old sailors missing everything from fingers and toes from frostbite to hands and legs from machinery accidents.

I stand across from Jessie. The reversal of our parting winds up being funny in a distressing way. My face can't decide what expression to make. I hold out a duffel bag. "Bought a new pair of shoes that were accidentally in your size. And a pair of gloves and a jacket. And a hand warmer might have slipped in there too."

She's going to turn it down. But I set it at her feet and say, "I have more money than I know what to do with. And I'd rather some of it go towards you not getting frostbite than wasting away in my stipend account."

Jessie steps forward and wraps me in a hug. The sudden contact makes me jump but Jessie is safe and I calm down enough to hug her back. I say the only thing that makes sense to say, "May the odds be ever in your favor, Jessie."

Unlike me, she laughs out loud at the reversal. "I'll just steal your odds."

"You don't want mine, you'll come back missing an eye. Take Luke's or Emily's odds."

Jessie give no indication of letting me go anytime soon, so I resign myself to the hug. She chuckles. "Not Xanthos' odds, either, or I'll be missing a leg."

"But at least you'd get a cane you can smack people with."

We both laugh because Xanthos has a reputation of smacking anyone he pleases with his cane. He smacked Laver for trying to sell him a burnt roll, Fen for trying to sell him a pair of boots in the wrong size, and once he even smacked a Peacekeeper for harassing a group of girls walking back home from school. In the words of Emily, "Xanthos gives exactly zero fucks." He keeps people honest.

Jessie lets me go and picks up the duffel back. We start walking towards the train station. The closer I get, the worse I feel. I hate good-byes. I disliked good-byes enough before the arena, but after Dove, they're worse. Good-byes feel like betrayal now.

Before the train station is in sight, I halt.

"So," I fidget and can't meet Jessie's eyes as she turns to me. "I'll probably be gone on the Victory Tour by the time you get back. I'll see you at the Dionysia, then."

Jessie drops the duffel bag and wraps me in another hug. "I'm scared for me, too. But Caspian will there with me, and so will Sappho. Captain Mira has been sailing the south route for over thirty years. I'm safer than you were."

She is the one about to be going into danger. I should be comforting her. Not the other way around. 

My bracelet is still around my wrist. It never leaves now. Still wrapped in Jessie's hug, I untwist the wire holding the owl charm she gave me. I pull away from the hug and press the charm into the palm of her hand and curl her fingers around it.

"May grey eyes watch over you, Jessie Zabat."

She nods and picks up the duffel bag with her free hand.

"Thank you. I know she helped you come home." She smiles at me. "Got a train to catch. It's a long trip up to North Point. I'll see you at Dionysia. And you better tell Hyacinth you like him or I'll do it for you."

"You wouldn't dare. You promised not to tell." 

Jessie smiles at me. "Try me, Lynn."

With that, we part. Jessie goes towards the train station and I go back to the Victors' Village.

Kelp needs to be fed and I got the scripts for the Victory Tour speeches yesterday evening so those need to be memorized. Today is one of the days I can actually feel life going onwards.

Not sure if I like that. It means people change and new patterns need to be figured out.

But I haven't had a panic attack in four days. Jessie will be safe, I know the storm radars will be working, and she will be paid well. I may or may not have paid Mr. Zabat triple the price for some carvings he did so he had enough money to fix the net winch. Sorrel wants to become a doctor but that gets expensive. It doesn't cost any money to go to the school, she'll actually get paid some for taking classes, but she can't work if she's studying and she still needs to buy books and equipment. It takes years to become a doctor and that means years of not getting paid much. I'll find ways to help whether they want me to or not.

Moving on isn't _all_ bad.


	7. Chapter 7

**Fall 87**   
**December 7th**

**Agrippa Karga**   
**Capitol Citizen**   
**Stylist for District 4**

Two garment bags are missing and the train leaves in forty minutes. I do have time to make a replacement for the 6 stop, but the dress is for the 11 stop and there is no time to prepare something new. Painting the flowers took nearly a week. There's no time to even order in paint or even dip dye something.

Where could they have gotten to?

Not on their racks. Not on the train, or else I wouldn't be here. Not on a work table.

Wait. The Winter rack has two extra bags on it.

I go and check. That's where they are. Exactly where they aren't supposed to be. I can't believe this. When I get back from the tour I'm going to find out whatever intern did this and they'll be lucky to get a job polishing shoes after I'm done with them.

Whatever, I have to get to the train now. And it's rush hour, this is wretched.

At least there's a car waiting for me outside.

It takes half an hour to get to the train station. That means I arrive only ten minutes before the train is supposed to leave, so I might as well be late with all that's left to organize. I take the misplaced garment bags over to the garment car and put them in their proper places. I start ticking off numbers.

Twenty-six boxes for all the footwear. Twenty-six pairs of the coordinated gloves, hopefully they won't be needed but I have to be prepared. Four pairs of pants, two pairs of leggings, and five blouses all hanging on their rack. Twenty dresses on their rack along with the jumpsuit. Seven coats and three shawls. Eight scarfs. One cape. And lastly the twenty-six jewelry boxes are all on the top shelf.

Everything is accounted for at last. Lynn's measurements from last week match rather closely with her initial ones for the chariot outfit, so that means she's recovered most her weight. I doubt all the weight is just muscle again, but it's good to know I won't be able to count all her ribs again. It was quite concerning how much weight she had lost.

The train should be moving, shouldn't it? That means someone is late. I'm going to guess now that it will be Ambillus again. 

I walk back to the parlor car. Metella is busy adjusting the settings of her implants, causing the lights to flow up and down her arm in time with her heartbeat. Cecelia is furiously texting someone. But the lack of Ambillus' presence, I'm guessing it just might be him.

She looks up at me and says, "He got stuck in traffic. I did warn him."

What she sees in him, I haven't the faintest of ideas. His parents' money, perhaps. At least the money everyone thinks they have. Maximus has quite the gambling habit and loses far more than he wins. Cassie heard he even started liquefying assets after he visited the Desert Rose over in District 1. 

Well, I haven't been able to check over the pendants after the repairs to the chains were made. That will give me something to do at least.

* * *

**Fall 87**   
**December 8th**

**Lynn Rayna**   
**District 4**   
**Victor of the 87th Hunger Games**

A bang wakes me. Cannon? No, knocking. A voice sing-songs, "Good morning, Lynn."

I recognize the voice. It's Metella. My prep team has arrived. I don't sleep with a knife anymore but I am glad they didn't just burst into the room. I call back, "Morning, just give me a sec."

I reach over to the side table and take my eye out of its case. I pop it into place and wet it with a few drops of saline. Blinking a few times gets rid of the dryness and the green tint as contacts click into place. I get the door and the whirlwind of beauty base zero descends on me.

Cecelia gets me into the shower and I can see Ambilus and Metella setting up their supplies, taking over my side tables and the top of my wardrobe. There are wax strips.

Cecelia makes me wash my hair with shampoo and this conditioner goop that I have to leave in for five minutes before washing out. It does make my hair shiner. Cecelia is surprised that I don't have a static dryer and have to use a towel to dry my hair. Apparently the static dryers are common in the Capitol. I don't point out that showers are uncommon in the Districts. Particularly the spread out ones like 4, since the pipes to carry the water aren't in place. Most water comes from well pumps or from desalination stills.

When I'm dried off, it's time for wax strips again. What is so wrong with hair? It grows there for a reason, I'm assuming. Why get rid of it? Of course they have to use the most painful way possible. I've burned off arm hair on accident before and that didn't hurt as much as the wax does.

Then comes ex-foliation and lotions and powders. There's the concealer for my scars and looking in the mirror is strange because I've forgotten what I look like without them. I stopped caring enough to cover them up months ago. Doubt nestles in my gut. Should I care? It is hard not to think something is wrong with how I look when the Capitol insists on changing and covering up so much. Then I catch a glimpse at Metalla's light up flower tattoos and remember why I don't care about the Capitol's thoughts on appearance. Primarily because they're stupid.

My prep team prattles on. They talk about parties they've been to and what the new trends in the Capitol are. Lace is in, brocade is out. Royal blue is the color for winter and lemon yellow is going to be in this spring. Industrial ear piercings are back in style. Brow piercings are up for debate. Metella likes them and Cecelia does not. Ambilus is more neutral but takes Cecelia's side. I have no idea how they keep track of it all. No wonder they have such short attention spans with all the useless junk shoved in their heads.

Agrippa arrives with my outfit for the day. My prep team is shooed away, Agrippa seems a bit annoyed with them, and I'm freed from their ceaseless talking. I guess even other Capitol citizens can get annoyed by all the talk of parties and fashion trends.

I pull on the pair of dark brown pants. It is good the pants have a zipper instead of buttons because my right hand and buttons do not mix well. I only need my left hand for zippers. There is a silk shirt in a color that Agrippa calls oxblood. It just looks like a dark red.

I don't even know what an ox is, let alone what color its blood should be. I think it might be a kind of horse or cow. At least something with hooves, maybe? Not a kind of fish, I know that much.

A long leather coat in the same dark brown of the pants goes over the outfit. The edges of the coat are embossed with little scale designs. The same pattern is repeated on the edges of the matching leather boots.

Agrippa holds out his hand and asks, "May I see your hand?"

I know which one his is referring to. I place my right hand in his palm. He turns it lightly in his grasp, examining the scars.

"They haven't faded at all." He half asks half comments, "I take it they couldn't preform a body polish, then."

"No, too much nerve damage. They don't want to risk complications."

Agrippa nods solemnly. Like Dr. Tiber, he seems to be more concerned about the scars than the nerve damage. This is a bit understandable with Agrippa, since his concern is making me look good, but I still find I'm disappointed in him, for lack of a better word. Agrippa is normally better than most other Capitol citizens. But even he is obsessed by surface details at the most inappropriate times.

Looking resigned, Agrippa takes a pair of gloves out of a coat pocket. "Well, you'll be bringing gloves back in style."

I pull on the gloves. They are dark red to match the shirt and made out a thin, supple leather that would be completely useless at protecting my hands from a gutting knife or errant hook, which is a big change compared to the thick, tan work gloves I'm used to wearing.

Agrippa completes the look with a set of jangly silver bracelets and a pair of silver loop earrings.

I got my ears pierced on a dare. Jason and I bet which one of us could withstand pain better, so in an attempt to resolve it, we both got our ears pierced by Mr. Fen. Well, I won because I got both my ears pierced, and Jason only got one. His got infected, too, because he didn't clean it right. Luke and Emily were mad at the both of us for the dare. I won so that doesn't matter.

Now dressed, I head down to the living room with Agrippa. Irene directs cameramen and sets up some of my embroidery pieces. She spots me and holds out some note cards without saying a word. The gesture, coming from Irene of all people, is rather rude, which winds up being rather amusing. Taking the cards, I can see that Irene is rather flustered and won't hold the rudeness against her at all.

Irene calls one of the few not cameramen in the room over and turns to me properly, "Could you go do the voice over with Trajan in the kitchen? We're running behind schedule."

That explains why she's flustered. She goes back to arranging embroidery pieces and asks where someone named Fanta is. A young man with orange and purple hair runs over to her.

I head towards the kitchen, Trajan following behind me. The kitchen is empty and quiet enough for recording the voice over that will go with the footage of my embroidery talent. Trajan sets up the microphones on the table. His skin is a rather unnerving shade of pale blue, which makes him look dead. Hypothermia.

(35th Games, Boral's, 2 deaths. 59th Games, 1 death. 69th Games, 5 deaths, highest to date.)

There are a few more hypothermia deaths but Trajan has finished setting up the microphones and distracts me.

"Just speak normally. We can do wonders in editing." As he speaks, I notice he has his lips painted black and his teeth are even more too white because of the contrast.

Starting with the first card, I speak of sun and sand and the coming and going of the tide. I talk about seashells and shark teeth like the ones I stitched onto canvas. These are the little things the Capitol gets to hear about, the sparse stories I told Irene and Agrippa in preparation for the Victor talent. I speak of the monstrous storms and of sheltering in old warehouses as boats are dashed against the wharfs. They already heard these stories because I told them to Dove. Somehow I find myself both ashamed and pleased I do not cry at the thought of her.

Time has numbed things even if it hasn't healed everything, like the scars.

I have most of the lines already memorized off the cards so reciting them is simple. The speeches on the tour should be the same; all memorized and can be recited no matter how many sedatives I'm on.

When I finish the voice overs, Irene appears and nearly pushes me out the door. I smile and wave at the cameras that wait outside. This is what I hate the most about the tour. Cameras are let into the Village. The Capitol gets to pry into our homes for a few hours. The shutters are all drawn tight on the other houses.

Xanthos sits on his porch. It's like he's guarding the rest of the Village from these intruders, even if there's nothing he can actually do about them. The cameramen still avoid him.

A car waits for me. Luke holds the door open. I get inside the car. Luke and Irene join me. The car sets off down the towards the train station.

(Ladies and gentlemen,) I imagine in Gemus Laurel's voice, (Let the 87th Victory Tour begin.)


	8. Chapter 8

**District 12**   
**Jet Meadows, 8th**   
**and Mary Walden, 9th**   
**Day 10, Set Kill**

**Lynn Rayna**   
**District 4**   
**Victor of the 87th Hunger Games**

Trees flash by the train. They are still green, despite being surrounded by snow. The name evergreen makes a lot more sense now. Most of the needle trees around District 4 go orangey in the winter so I only saw that the green kind in arenas and just assumed they were some kind of muttation or an exaggeration used in textbooks like "Great White Shark." There's way bigger sharks in the ocean but Great Whites still have the 'great' in their name from pre-Panem times.

I expect to see the outskirts of District 12 any time now. We haven't even passed through a fence yet, but apparently we're two hours away according to Irene's timetable and the last fuel stop that was made. District 12 is the smallest District, according to the books at school that I actually read, but it must be really tiny if we haven't entered it yet.

Cecelia works on braiding my hair into a plait with white ribbons woven through it. My hair isn't long enough for the full style, so she's attached other pieces of hair to my hair, which is kind of creepy. Who's hair was it? Asking is not an option, though, since I don't really want to know the answer. It could be anything from some plastic made in District 3 to a dead person's hair.

My makeup is plain by Capitol standards. Pale pink lips and just a bit of silver on my eyelids, plus all my scars filled in and contoured away. My eyebrows have been plucked, which hurt a lot, and filled in with a weird pencil thing to make them thinner and darker.

I have to keep my hands still on my lap because the nail polish is still drying on my fingertips. Like my makeup, they are also rather plain, solid white with dark grey tips.  
Cecelia finishes plaiting my hair, tying off the end with a long white ribbon done in a fancy bow. Not everything can be plain.

Cecelia leaves and I'm left alone for a moment. I just keep staring out the window. The woods are pines, not oaks like the north of the arena. Some stuff must stay the same though in wood for Jet to have survived up there, even if he just recognized animals and plants from beyond a fence.

Something like a combination of guilt and fear coils in my gut. Luke told me about the fact I now hold the shortest set time. Only one minute and forty-seven seconds separating the moment I plunged my blade into Mary's neck then severed Jet's head from his shoulders. I don't even know how I did it that quickly but I was moving at that point, not thinking.

The only other time even close to mine was three minutes and fifty-nine seconds separating the death of the tributes from District 2 after Beetee Latier, Victor of the 42nd Hunger Games, electrocuted them. The boy technically fell unconscious then drowned, so the kill was counted as natural, which means his set doesn't count according to the Capitol records of the Games. Other than that, the next shorted time was the tributes from District 1, separated by thirty-one minutes and forty-two seconds, killed by Feldspar Crater, Victor of the 79th Games.

It took me less than two minutes to destroy a District's hopes of a Victor. They will hate me in District 12, where they spit the word career like a curse and I live up to that reputation.

Agrippa enters the train car with my outfit and I am ever grateful for any distraction. He hands me a pair of dark grey leggings and I pull them on. They're followed by a long, white silk top and a thick wool overcoat the same color as the leggings. The coat is lined with a thick black fur and is warm in the train but will be perfect for the snowy weather outside.

Next is a pair of chunky white boots, also lined with the black fur, with thick soles. They'll be great if I go up to North Point. Agrippa holds onto a final box and says, "We'll wait to put these on right before you exit. Don't want you to get overheated in here."

We go over to the main car where Irene and Luke are going over the schedule. Luke looks over to me and holds out a glass of water and two red pills. The sedatives are the only kind that don't make me drowsy, but still can make me nauseous. I consider saying I'll be fine; that I won't need the sedatives for the stop.

Then I remember wine-dark blood and dead eyes and blinking. I take the water and the pills and down them quickly. The pills have an effect slower than the others, taking closer to fifteen minutes to work compared to the mere minute of some of the other kinds.

The train begins to slow and I catch my first real glimpses of District 12. Along the roads, white snow has been turned to grey sludge by foot traffic and coal dust. Most things are various shades of grey and black from coal dust. It is worse towards the mountains in the east, where the coal mines are. The train pulls into a nicer part of the town, indicated by the presence of, well, slightly less coal dust.

Agrippa pulls a scarf out of the box and drapes it around my neck, leaving it to me to tie it, since I don't like people putting their hands near my neck, especially my throat. Even when Cecelia does my hair, I tense up without thinking about it. 

The scarf is bright blue and embroidered with silver and gold swirls. The scarf is matched with a knit hat and gloves with the same color and embroidery.

The train comes to a halt. Agrippa tucks a loose hair back in place and smooths down the collar of my coat. I square my shoulders and brace myself for something I do not know how to fight. I can't just conquer my emotions by stabbing them with a trident.

The train doors slide open and a swarm of cameras greet me. I smile and wave as I step down onto the platform. The cameramen part and Luke and Irene join me. A pair of Peacekeepers escort us over to a waiting car. Luke goes in first and I follow, sitting next to him. Irene sits next to me and a single cameraman sits across from her, next to a woman who was already in the car. The car door is closed and we start moving.

I do not recognize the woman sitting in the car. The mayor typically guides the Victor around their District and I haven't heard anything about District 12 getting a new mayor. The woman introduces herself as Madge Undersee, the mayor's daughter, and apologizes for her father's absence. He has fallen ill, but will hopefully be well enough to give the speech and join us for dinner this evening. She's pretty, with long blond hair done up in a bun that suits the shape of her face, and has blue eyes and fair skin. I'm used to seeing the darker haired and olive skinned District 12 citizens, so her appearance stands out.

Madge looks to be around thirty. I wonder if she knew Katniss or Peeta, she would have been around their age during the 74th Games. If she had known either of them, it would have probably been Peeta. District 12 is often divided during the Reaping into clusters of fair and dark haired children and the division most likely extends into other parts of life as well.

The cameraman takes off their helmet, revealing a young man underneath the bug-like suit. He's Capitol, the bright green hair and facial piercing make it glaringly obvious. He has two sets of piercing in his cheeks. It's gross. How would he even keep that clean? How would he drink with holes that go through his cheeks?

Irene recognizes the man and the two chatter in the way only Capitol citizens seem to be able to. I think they went to the same school, if I understand what they're saying. That, and they've gone to many of the same parties. He also sponsored me for 20 solidi. I thank him automatically.

Out the window, past Luke, I can see more coal dust covered building as we're going east to the coal mines. There are some old warehouses, long disused since coal is transported directly on to the trains. There is a bare slab of concrete with a few jagged posts rising out of it. One of the warehouses must have burnt down at some point. Then there are a bunch of smaller buildings. It's only when I see the smoke from chimneys and laundry hanging out to dry that I realize the small buildings are homes. The buildings are little more than one room shacks. No wonder the cameras aren't filming here. But I understand why I get to see this anyways. Part of my only feels pity for District 12. The rest feels grateful I'm not from here and at least District 4 is better off than them. That's exactly what the Capitol wants me to feel.

The hollow faces of so many of the tributes from District 12 means there's starvation, I know that. I've seen starving cannery kids before. Even with Tesserae, there is sometimes not enough food to go around. But even the poorest cannery towns don't look as bad as these one room shacks.

The divide between fair and dark hair makes more sense now. The fair haired tributes, rare as they are, never look as hollow faced and I don't see anyone of their complexion among the faces peering out of the doors of the homes here. The fair haired ones must all live in town. How much money a family has tends to be just as hereditary as hair color or skin tone.

We have divides in District 4, but none are as stark as what I'm picking up from District 12. People move around in District 4 frequently. Jason's worked down in Gulf Port on a shrimping boat this summer and Jessie's up in North Point on a crabbing boat right now. Jessie could even wind up staying there. I've known a few who have. There's mixing between groups and always a chance to move towards different and better work. That doesn't seem to be the case in District 12 and again I feel the same mix of pity and gratefulness.

The car stops in front of one of the mines. The cameraman puts his helmet back on and steps out of the car first. The rest of us step out. The sedatives have started working rather nicely.

Madge introduces me to the foreman. There are some workers in the background, standing in their gear, posed like dolls by the Capitol. I try not to take the glares some send at me personally. Some of the younger men would have been Jet's peers, eighteen year olds that escaped Reaping because he did not.

I would have killed them just the same had they been the ones in the arena. Nothing personal. Just survival.

Madge and the foreman show me the elevator that takes the workers down into the mines and the conveyor belts that take the coal directly over to the trains. I'm directed back to the car after the brief tour.

The short drive takes the group of us back to the District Center proper where a stage has been set up in the square in front of the Justice Building. The square is crowded with people, the divide between fair and dark hair present as I expected.

There is a choir of children singing the anthem. The tune makes me flinch and I have to resist the urge to check the sky for any portraits. The sedatives have stuffed by head full of feathers and that's the only thing preventing me from actually panicking. Mayor Undersee is on the stage, apparently well enough to give the speech. Someone, Trajan maybe (no, not blue), clips a microphone into the collar of my jacket. There is scattered applause as I am announced and take my place on the stage.

Mayor Undersee begins the speech in my honor. I try to keep my face neutral, which is impossible with my scar, so instead it looks like I'm smirking. In front of the stage are the platforms for the families of the dead tributes.

On Mary's side, three people stand. One is an old woman, grey haired and weather-beaten, who meets my gaze and shakes her head. I do not know what she means by the gesture. Beside her is a slightly younger woman, somewhere closer to middle aged rather than elderly. Her lips are pursed and tears are fresh on her cheeks. A younger man stands ramrod straight next to her. He can only be a couple years older than me, his hands stained with coal dust and his eyes glassy. Grandmother, mother, and brother.

On Jet's side, five stand. Parents, side by side, holding onto each other for support, both stained with coal dust. An older girl, closer to my age, though the thinness of her face makes it difficult to tell. Her head is down and her shoulders shake lightly. Two younger boys, both looking furious, faces red and hands balled into fists. Angry tears well in their eyes.

Clapping tells me Mayor Undersee is done. A young girl approaches, holding a huge bouquet of flowers. I accept the bundle.

(Wisteria and larkspur, both poisonous, nausea and vomiting, death by dehydration) I identify some of the blossoms in the back of my mind.

Lists are easy for me to memorize. So I made my speech into a list of lines and recite them in order, not even bothering to glance at the cards.

Tributes fought with honor. Sacrifice for the good of Panem. Mercy of the Capitol.

Panem today. Panem tomorrow. Panem forever.

This is the same general speech used for at least fifty years, some of the wording going in and out of fashion, though the last lines were added during the 74th Victory Tour and have been present ever since. No one leaves out those lines.

The only card I look at is the last one. The personal comment card. Approved by Irene, and no doubt Capitol censors, beforehand. Taking a deep breath, I focus on the clarity past the sedatives that fight back the pain. I turn to the podium where Mary's family stands.

"Mary was the bravest tribute in the arena. Braver than any in the pack alliance."

I do not expect a family from District 12 to understand the full meaning of my words, but I can try to tell them anyways.

"She did not cower or cry."

No recap clip ever showed her face tear stained.

"She did not run away."

That is all I have to say. Anything longer does not feel right since I'm speaking as her killer.

I want to tell them her death was a tragedy, not a sacrifice, and I wish I had no part in it. I wish that she was never Reaped. I wish there were no Hunger Games. But these things cannot be said. All I can hope is they understand these unsaid things.

Adjusting my grip on the cards and bouquet, I step back away from the podium. There is a flicker of movement to my left, near Jet's side. The youngest boy runs towards the stage, pulls himself halfway up, and spits at me.

There is a flurry of movement as Peacekeepers appear. A wall of white forms in front of me. Someone grabs my arm. I spin, instincts breaking past the sedatives. It's Luke and he pulls me away.

He wraps an arm around my shoulder, shielding me from the chaos behind us. I hear someone laughing. The voice sounds familiar for some reason. Luke murmurs, "It'll be okay. Just ignore Haymitch."


	9. Chapter 9

**Fall 87**   
**December 10th**

**Agrippa Karga**   
**Capitol Citizen**   
**Stylist for District 4**

It is nice to finally confirm that Ambilus is, in fact, an alcoholic. Two empty bottles of cranberry vodka are rather solid proof of that. There needs to be locks installed on the liquor cabinets, all of them. Irene could arrange something, I'm sure. I'll have to ask her. At least Cecelia has managed to keep him somewhat under control.

He's still fired the second the Victory Tour is complete. I understand everyone has their vices. His father gambles, but it doesn't interfere with his business dealings. Directly, that is. Cassie loves fine dining but often invites clients and business partners to accompany her and winds up getting contracts worth more than the meal out of the meeting. I love a good soap opera, even if Cassie says that term is an oxymoron, but always make sure to have a sketch book on hand so I can so I can sketch if anything inspires me.

Ambilus lets his drinking get in the way of his work and that makes it unprofessional. And cranberry vodka is disgusting and there are far better drinks available.

I check for a signal again. There is no cell reception out here. We've stopped to refuel on the way to District 11. I was going to call Cassie to ask how her and Aemon's days had been. I hate being apart from them. It's less than two weeks, though.

I need to start getting Lynn ready in a few hours to be on time for the arrival at one o'clock. She hasn't gotten any sleep tonight. None of us have gotten much sleep, for that matter. Except for Ambilus, if blacking out counts as sleep.

Pocketing my cell, I look out to the woods. We're at the northernmost reaches of District 11, if I remember my geography correctly, and there is a thin layer of snow on the ground and on the boughs of trees. It sparkles in the pale light of dawn. Rose quartz on dark brown and mottled grey. That could be an interesting contrast. A pity I didn't see this before designing Lynn's tour outfits, a hair net of rose quartz beads would look lovely on her.

A shrieking noise pierces the air. It sends my heart racing before I realize it is Lynn laughing. Given how upset she has been, I'm not entirely sure if I should be concerned or not.

I step down from the train and walk in the direction I saw Lynn and Luke heading earlier.  
They are behind the train, standing across from each other, having a snowball fight.

Lynn twists midair to dodge out of the way of Luke's throw and laughs as she tucks into a roll as she lands. They continue back and forth like this, throwing snowballs at each other and leaping out of the way. There is a beauty to their movements. A grace and accuracy born from weapons training that now translates into a children's game.

After a particularly impressive tumble, Lynn spots me and calls out, "Agrippa, over here, you can be on my team."

"No fair, I don't have a team!" Luke shouts back.

"Not my problem." Lynn shouts back before waving me over.

I haven't had a snowball fight since I was around ten and mum took me to Lucretia Park to go ice skating. It can't hurt. And it would make Lynn feel better.

I join Lynn behind the fallen log she has been using as her main base. There is a pile of snow balls beside her. She hands me one, grinning. Opposite us, Luke is in a low crouch behind his own log. Based on the tracks in the snow, they dragged the logs out here to use as shelters.

Lynn pulls her arm back, ready to throw. I get ready to throw as well. Lynn throws and I throw right after her. Her snowball grazes Luke's jacket and mine doesn't even come close to him.

Irene comes out of one of the cars. Luke calls over to her, "They're ganging up on me. You're on my team now."

While Luke is distracted, Lynn takes the opportunity to hurl another snowball at him. It hits him square in the chest.

Irene hesitates, opening her mouth to say something.

The refueling will take another five minutes and a few snowballs will not put us behind schedule. I grab a new snowball and hurl it at her. It hits her right on that hideous enamel rose pin she likes to wear. We're all going to have to get changed for the tour stop. We might as well have fun in the meantime.

Lynn and Luke continue their bounding leaps while Irene and I focus on trying to just hit each other. She has surprisingly good aim. A snowball wizzes past my face. That is a cheap shot. I bet I can knock her wig off.

* * *

**District 11**   
**Jay Peach, 24th**   
**Day 1, Bloodbath, First Blood**

**Lynn Rayna**   
**District 4**   
**Victor of the 87th Hunger Games**

We passed through the outer fences over an hour ago. Getting closer to the District Center, I can see taller concrete walls topped with coils of razor wire. There are towers along the walls. For guards, I guess. District 11 is large, so the Peacekeepers must need the towers to see further. The train has begun to slow. We will be arriving in the District Center in around fifteen minutes according to Irene. The sedatives have kicked in nicely and I appreciate the numbness, given the lack of sleep last night.

I suppose I should start feeling guilty again. Jay was from 11.

Jay's death does not bother me much. He did attack me first. Self-defense. Actual self-defense, not like with Mary. I doubt he could have killed me, but he could have injured me and any injury in the arena could turn mortal. His death was rather quick and I was so caught up in everything I never dwelt on it.

Agrippa adjusts the drape of the shawl around my shoulders. I still don't know why I'm wearing it. The yellow fabric is so thin it couldn't protect me against even a light breeze. It matches the watercolor yellow and red flowers that are painted on the fabric of the dress. The only function the shawl serves is being pretty. That's weird. At least the coats serve a purpose by protecting me from the weather. The shawl is just an ornament like the jewelry.

Right now I have a goal, which makes me feel better. Get through the Victory Tour. After that, I'm lost again.

But having a goal does help. It makes things go closer back to normal. It gives me something to move towards. I can lay out the steps to get there. The Victory Tour steps are simple. Get through the day to go to the next stop. I've made it past District 12. That is a complete step.

I should mention this all to Luke. He might have some ideas for what I could do for more kinds of steps later on when the goal is less clear. He must have gone through something similar after his return home. 

We pass by the first of the buildings. It looks abandoned. Paint peels and what wood is exposed is grey and rotting. We pull closer to the station and all the buildings are like that. I noticed on past Reaping and Victory Tour footage that District 11 looked run down. It's even worse in person.

The crowds in the District Center are never large. Most of the population must live in other towns. They could also be out working in the orchards and greenhouses for a late fall harvest like the how the crabbing season is going on right now. Most years they never even bother with having a tour around District 11. The drive is too far to get to any of the orchards or even the nicer greenhouses.

The train slows to a halt.

The door open and I step out onto the platform, a smile plastered on my face. There are no cameramen. Only a pair of Peacekeepers and a waiting car. I drop the smile.

Like before, Luke gets into the car first, I follow him, and Irene follows me. The door is unceremoniously slammed shut behind us. (Rude.) Through the sedative fog, that is all I can really think. The Peacekeepers are rude. (No, needlessly aggressive.) 

The car lurches into motion. No one sits across from us this time. We're being taken straight to the square then. The tint on the windows is darker on this car, so it makes it harder to see outside. All I see other than crumbling buildings are Peacekeepers stationed at various street corners. They have their long guns in hand. Most of the Peacekeepers in District 4 only carry a truncheon, sometimes a handgun in the cannery towns. The long guns never really leave the armory. The only reason I know they are there is because I talked Vitalus into showing me after I beat him at cards. Rifles. That's what he called the long guns.

These Peacekeepers all have rifles with them. Why would they need rifles? Rifles are for shooting lots of things since they hold more bullets than handguns, and the long barrels means that they can shoot things further away, too.

There is no one even around the streets that would be a potential target. Or maybe they aren't on the streets because the Peacekeepers have rifles. That still leaves the question as to why they feel the need to have rifles, or that the Capitols feels they need to.

The car stops beside the justice building. The marble, no doubt once all white, is modelled by green and black patches from moss and mold. A Peacekeeper yanks opens the door (still overly aggressive) and herds us towards the stage.

A microphone is fitted into the collar of my shawl by the same not-Trajan sound tech person. Stepping into the stage, under a sagging awning, I am greeted by dull applause from the sparse audience in attendance. The mayor begins the speech and I find myself looking at the dead tributes' families again.

On Jay's side, two stand. A slightly older couple, something around middle aged. Their tightly curled hair is still black but their faces are weathered. Stress and sun carve their features more than age, like whalers and crabbers.

On Belle's side, seven stand. A man who stands ramrod straight, nostrils flared and fists clenched. His anger is not quite aimed at me. The cougar mutt killed Belle. But she was separated from her allies by the pack. The man is surrounded by a flock of six children, four boys and two girls. All but maybe one of the boys is younger than Belle was. Most of the kids alternate between trying to be strong like their father and sniffling into their sleeves.

Applause and a bouquet of flowers being presented to me signal it is now my turn for the speech. The memorized lines come easily. Sacrifice so there may be peace.

There is no peace here. The crowd shifts. The Peacekeepers shift in turn. Some of the crowd looks angry, tensed and ready to fight. Some have bruises on their faces barely covered up with what might be makeup for them to be presentable to the Capitol. Trouble makers. The reasons the Peackeepers have rifles.

I end with Panem today, Panem tomorrow, Panem forever.

There is no need for a personal speech like I felt the need to give about Mary. By attacking me unarmed, Jay crossed the line between brave and foolish. Even if I did have personal comments, the angry crowd would dissuade me from saying anything. I'm not afraid for my own safety but I don't want anyone doing anything stupid again.

Besides, the shorter I keep the speech, the sooner I can get this all over with.

There is no disturbance like in District 12 so I exit the stage calmly, not fenced in by Peacekeepers. Luke falls into step beside me. His presence lets me relax a fraction.

There are Peacekeepers with rifles flanking the Justice Building doors as we enter the building. I want to know why they all have rifles with them. Is it because of the angry crowd? Or are the rifles frightening people and making them angry?

But those kinds of questions do not get asked when the Capitol might be listening. Those questions are the kinds for asking on boats out at sea. I'll try to get Emily on a boat, when I get back. She knows the most about these kinds of things. She did mentor Finnick during the Quarter Quell.

Einkorn Braeburn, Victor of the 68th Hunger Games, greets me. He's District 11's only living Victor. Seeder Howell and Chaff Rodgerson died in the Quell and Amara Citron died a few years ago of some kind of cancer, if I remember correctly.

I shake his hand. He holds my hand firm and looks me up and down. The reception is reserved, but comes off as downright warm in comparison to Haymitch Abernathy's drunken ramblings from yesterday.

My prep team arrives and whisks me away to change into the outfit for dinner. It's going to be a weird time to have dinner, since it is only around two right now.

Past the prep team's chatter, I catch Einkorn mummer in his deep voice, "There's a reason I tell them to stay away from the Cornucopia."

And there's a reason the career pack is successful, the Cornucopia is ours. Fodder should never be so bold as to try and take from it openly. And unfortunately, the children of District 11 tend to be bloodbath fodder.


	10. Chapter 10

**District 8**  
**Tweed Spinner, 2nd**  
**Day 15, Last Blood**

**Lynn Rayna**  
**District 4**  
**Victor of the 87th Hunger Games**

Four down, eight more stops to go before heading back home. Nearly a third of the way through the tour. With enough sedatives, the remainder of the tour will be manageable.

The air smells here. Like burning plastic and something acidic. We pass by another factory and get closer to the train station. The scent must be from how they make the fabric. What is fabric dye made out of anyways? I heard about a kind of red dye made from bugs once.

I have even less guilt over killing Tweed than I do Jay. Tweed volunteered. He had to have trained (I think), because his strategy was nearly identical to Nick Pinking's. Poison darts, trip wires, and knife fighting. It was a fair fight and I barely got the upper hand in the end. Tweed took my eye, and may as well have taken my hand with how much trouble I have with it.

The mornings' pattern continues as Agrippa comes in with my outfit for the speech part of the stop. His presence gets me unstuck form my thoughts. I am grateful as always. Agrippa smiles already. He normally only smiles after I've gotten dressed and he has made whatever adjustments needed for the full look to meet his expectations.

Looking at the swathe of silver in his hands, for a moment I think he is holding my armor.

No, not my armor. There is no black paneling.

I pull on the silver jumpsuit as instructed. The fit matches my armor, hugging my body. It is made of a different material, something smoother and not as stiff. There is a pair of short black boots and matching gloves that go with it. Agrippa hands me a black silk scarf and I wrap it around my neck.

In the mirror, I stare at myself. Even with sedatives, the urge to bolt and hide somewhere small proves nearly overwhelming. (Not in the arena) reminds the calm voice that's settled itself nicely into the back of my mind. It is hard to believe is wearing silver.

This will be as good as practice as anything. I smile and turn to Agrippa. "I like it."

He beams. At least someone is happy here. "I'm glad you do. You look magnificent."

Agrippa steps out of the room. I take a moment to bite down on the inside of my cheek. On the right side, the new scar tissue gives me ample purchase. I focus on the pain instead of the panic. I can control the pain. It is a temporary fix, but will have to do for the moment as I follow Agrippa down the length of the train car towards the main one.

The sedatives are still kicking in. I've started taking them with breakfast. Normally they're working by now. I might be getting used to them. I know that's supposed to be one of the risks. You have to take more and more for it to work and the other side effects can get worse. 

Entering the main train car, Luke and Irene are waiting for us. Irene winds up districting Agrippa with talk about the timing for getting me into the dinner outfit after the speech.  
Luke slips over to me and wraps an arm around me. He leans close and whispers, "I've never been fond of metallics."

He does hate metallic fabric. One of the few things he gets really snarky about. I've decided I hate it, too.

The breaks squeal as the train slows to a halt. My head is starting to feel fuzzy. Good.

I step forward, square my shoulders, and smile. If I keep telling myself I can do this, I'll be able to do it. I'd rather get stabbed in the face again than step out of this train car but the door is open and I step out anyways.

Cameramen. Smile and wave. Waiting car. Luke in first, then me, and Irene. Someone sits across from us so I have to keep smiling.

Mayor Bobbin greets me cheerfully. She's the youngest mayor. Appointed last spring from what I remember. She says she'll be showing me around one of the Peacekeeper uniform factories.

I nod.

Something nags me in the back of my mind. I can't pinpoint it. Why do I feel like I have forgotten something important?

I try to focus again. We're nearly at the factory now.

Luke's hand is on my shoulder. He whispers, "Hang in there."

I step out of the car. I had completely blanked. That's not good. Too much stress and there is only fog. That's one of the side effects of the red pills. Trouble concentrating and memory loss. This happened in District 9 so I know how to deal with it. More importantly, Luke knows how to deal with it.

One foot in front of the other. Listen to Mayor Bobbin and the factory head people. Keep smiling, look interested. Even with the tour, the factory is still operating behind the glass walls we look through. This must be where the foreman watches from.

I watch the plastic armor pieces get pressed into shapes and sewn onto canvas bases. It reminds me of the Peacekeepers with the rifles in District 11, in a weird way. Like the Capitol is flexing its muscles and showing off how much power they have.

Back to the car.

Mayor Bobbin asks me something. It takes me a moment to remember her question. It's like when a teacher would ask me if I was paying attention and I could repeat what they said right back to them even though I wasn't really paying attention.

"Yes. Seeing the factory was very interesting."

I stare out the window. I try to keep track of how many buildings we pass to have something to keep myself grounded with. My stomach lurches as the movement of the car and disorientates me again.

Right now I just want to curl up in a ball and sleep. That's not an option. Keep focusing.

That building is back there now. I lost track of a block. These big cities are weird. Main Port is spread out. Most people live in house boats up and down the coast. Inland is made up of shops with apartments above them, warehouses, and a few crowded apartment blocks closer to pearl growing vats and spawning pools.

Are all the big buildings here in District 8 apartments? Other than the factories and warehouses, that is.

The car slows for a moment and I try to peer in a window to check. There are closed blinds. Well, a house would have blinds, wouldn't it? Houses near the center, the factories further out. District 8 is small in area. The District Center holds most of the population, or maybe all of it. Are there other towns here? No idea. Books never mention stuff like that and I normally don't pay attention to the tributes from District 8 to hear about them mentioning other places.

The car stops now and we're at the square. A chorus of school children sings the anthem.

Peacekeepers take us to our places. Only a few have rifles. Most have riot shields and truncheons. Riot shields are new. The crowd is bigger here than in any of the other Districts I've been to. That must be why.

A different not-Trajan clips a microphone to my scarf. 

Mayor Bobbin begins her speech.

I look over to Flax's family first. Four stand there. An older man, a middle aged couple, and a teenaged boy. Grandfather, parents, older brother. I didn't kill Flax. Cassius slit her throat at the start of the feast. Some of their anger is still for me and some is for the Capitol. It all gets very mixed up because I am a career and in that regard go along with the Capitol's pageantry of the Games.

One person stands on Tweed's side. I lock eyes with Nick Pinking, Victor of the 52nd Hunger Games. Why is he standing there? Tweed's last name is Spinner. They aren't related, I would have heard about that, if not in the Games but since from interviews.

I maintain my staring contest with Nick. It's Tweed's fault I have so many scars. So it's his fault, too, because he trained Tweed, I know it. That's why he's standing there. He's the closed thing to family Tweed must have had.

I only have one real eye in this staring contest and like Hades' depth will I lose. Nick looks away first. I win.

Applause. I accept the bouquet offered. 

I go with just the memorized lines, no personal comments. Even if I had something prepared, I already made my statement with my staring contest. I know the cameras caught it.

Panem today. Panem tomorrow. Panem forever.

* * *

**District 7**  
**Oak Leblanc, 18th**  
**Day 1, Bloodbath**

**Lynn Rayna**  
**District 4**  
**Victor of the 87th Hunger Games**

Oak burbles at me. "You have to face them now. My family. They needed me after we lost our mother."

He steps towards me, his guts swaying and smelling like orange juice and bile. The scent chokes me. I am rooted in place. He stands right in front of me, his forehead pressed against mine. Oak grins at me and I can see strips of bloodied meat hanging between his teeth. His breath smells of decay; like that whale that got beached north of the resort and burst in the sun.

"You should be dead, Lynn Rayna." He bites my cheek and tears open the scar. "You should die."

The word "die" is in my voice. Oak bursts into a thousand Jabber Jays that circle me, screaming "die" and crying out in pain and fear. One lands on my shoulder and whimpers in Dove's voice. The claws on its feet dig deep into my flesh and blood flows down my arm.

I try to beat them back but I can't move. My legs are stuck and they're all over me. I try to scream. One of the Jabber Jays forces its head into my mouth. It starts to crawl down my throat. Its beak is sharp and its feathers tickle.

* * *

A strangled cry wakes me. The cry is my own voice tearing itself out of my throat. The sheets have been flung from my bed.

From behind the door, I can hear Luke's voice. "Lynn, are you alright?"

No blood. No obvious new bruising. Alright, by those standards.

I begin to reply but stop myself. The voice only sounds like Luke. (It is Luke) the calm voice points out. The rest of me does not care for any sort of logical reasoning, because I can't see if it's Luke or if it's a Jabber Jay that sounds like him. This could be another part of the nightmare, the thousand Jabber Jays waiting to throw my voice back at me from behind the door.

In response to my silence, Luke says, "I'm going to open the door and stick my hand in, okay?"

I manage to croak out, "Okay."

The door opens and Luke's hand is what appears. No feathers. No wings and screeching and whimpers.

"I can see you." I call out.

Luke fully opens the door. It's still him. No Jabber Jays. He steps into the room and sits on the edge of my bed.

My heart beats slows to not quite frantic. The train sways and I listen to the vibrating rattle of the dresser draws, caused by the rumbling of the train's engine. I sync my breathing with Luke's.

"Want me to get you something to eat?" He asks.

"Toast, please."

Luke nods and gets up to go get some toast. Breakfast has been toast and sedatives for the past three days. It works.

I wish there was a pill that would make me forget it all. No Games, no Tour. But that wouldn't be right, would it? That's what morphling does and morphlings stop being people at a certain point because there is nothing but the blankness left.

I killed people and have to live with it. Every Victor has to. A lot wind up being addicted to something or other to kill the pain. I won't go down that route. Mako drank and that's what killed him in the end. His liver gave out.

Doesn't mean I don't want sedatives right now. Just to slow my racing heart.

Luke brings me some toast and sedatives. I wash it down with apple juice.

There is still an hour before I need to be readied for the stop. Luke sits beside me. He reaches over and ruffles my hair.

"Hang in there. Nearly at the halfway."

I lean against Luke. Days like this, he is the only human contact I'm okay with. Everyone else is from the Capitol or is a District official or another Victor. The Capitol citizens disgust me and the officials all seem hollow and the other Victors frighten me. Only Luke is safe.

The silence begins to bother me. It does that sometimes. Creeps up on me and makes everything on edge. I fill it because the quiet hum of the train engine isn't enough.

"Do you think I'm going to be a good mentor?"

Luke leans back a bit to look down at me. He smiles and it's a sad smile because it doesn't come close to his eyes.

"Yes. I do worry though, that you'll get too attached to all of your tributes. That every death might just tear you to pieces too small to put back together." Luke leans against me now, not the other way around. "Since the day you joined my Polis, I hoped you would fail. That you'd not be made out of volunteer material and I wouldn't have to see you in an arena. Yet, you were, and ever since you hid up on those cliffs I braced myself for your death. Because it was going to be my fault. You wanted to volunteer because I volunteered. But here you are."

I realize that Luke has no more idea of what he's doing than I do. That's what it is like to have a future. You don't know things. There's guessing and all, but no knowing things. In the arena, answers are obvious. If you want to live, kill that person or flee from that trap or fight off those mutts. Sometimes there's a few ways of going about things, but all that matters is surviving until the end and that narrows down the possibilities. Outside the arena, there are too many possible solutions to choose from and often too many problems all at once to sort between. But you deal with it somehow anyways. You have to make plans and contingencies and I'm good at those.

"You're a good mentor, Luke." To me that's obvious, but he needs reassurance just like I do. I add on to distract us both. "I figured out what I want to call my Polis. Osprey."

Luke likes distractions just like I do. He is my mentor and I'm his tribute, even though I'm a Victor now. He ruffles my hair. "Why'd you pick it?"

"Annie told me about how ospreys are the rulers of the cliffs. And how it's good luck to see one carrying a fish."

Annie likes birds. I like birds, too, but that's because Dove liked birds. If I think about that too hard I'm going to just make myself sad and I'm happy again for once so I'm not going to think about Dove naming all the birds.

Luke and I sit side by side, leaning on each other. The hum of the engine becomes enough to beat back the silence for now.


	11. Chapter 11

**District 5**  
**Dove Dunn, 5th**  
**Day 14, Betrayal**

**Lynn Rayna**  
**District 4**  
**Victor of the 87th Hunger Games**

Mother and father, standing side by side, like pillars holding up the rest of the family. An older couple, grandparents, standing closer to the mother, so her parents. A young woman holding a small boy. Older sister, and nephew maybe. A pair of girls, maybe just at Reaping age, identical. She never mentioned that her younger sisters were twins.

This is Dove's family. All eight of them at the platform bearing a banner with her photo on it.

I hold the personal comment card tightly. Standing in my aqua dress and grey coat, I feel like my every breath is an insult to Dove's family. She could be standing here if it was not for my choice to throw a javelin into her gut. I killed her quickly after that.

"I never understood Dove's kindness. She tried to comfort the frightened. Argent even stopped crying for a little while when she talked to him during training. She saved my life. More than once."

She never understood me, either. Could not comprehend why I would ever volunteer. More than once, she looked at me with something like fear or revulsion even though she killed two people. That fundamental lack of understanding lead to those final moments.

"I did what I could to repay her kindness by making it quick."

I did not want to make this speech. The Capitol made me. They do adore their dramatics.

"I-"

I can't do this. I bite the inside of my cheek, finding ample purchase on the new scar tissue from the cheek wound. It feels wrong to cry here, in front of her family.

Leaving her alive could have cost me my life. I might regret the way I won, but I can't apologize for surviving.

That's the why. Survival. I have her answer. I have her answer about why. It seems so obvious. It was nothing fancy or noble. Just survival.

I drop the card, still remembering what it said and only vaguely caring. I skip to the end. 

"Dove was the finest of us in the career pack despite not being one of us."

I use career pack, instead of alliance like the card says, because the term matters here in the outer Districts.

Finished, I step back from the podium. There are scattered bits of applause that fill the audience until everyone is clapping as required.

I spot in the crowd an older teen standing right behind Dove's family. He hates me. The way he stands, feet slightly spread, shoulders squared. It's an aggressive pose. Muscles are tensed. His balance is not quite right. He's never really fought. But he wants to fight me. He must be Al. Red hair, freckles; rather classic District 5 in appearance. He's handsome. Dove and Al would have been a fine couple.

We lock eyes. I am too numb to register much of anything. His nostrils flare. A Peacekeeper shifts in the line between the crowd and the stage and blocks Al from my view.

There are a few closing words by District 5's mayor. 

Dove's grandmother watches me. She doesn't stare, doesn't angrily lock eyes with me. The gaze did not burn with hate like Al's did. Sha has a little frown and soft crease to the brows that says pity. It confuses me. I don't understand her pity.

The anthem plays (don't flinch) and I am guided back towards the Justice Building. Luke is right beside me. I hand him my bouquet so I can cling to his arm for support.

I have not panicked yet. My stomach roils from the sedatives and my head is full of feathers that make up the barriers keeping the growing fear at bay. Luke guides me deeper into the Justice Building, up a set of stairs, and down a short hall for me to get changed into the dinner outfit.

Most of the time, the mentors greet me when I'm led into the Justice Building. Elektra and Michael must be still getting ready, or something. 

Metella takes over. She is not safe like Luke but she isn't threatening. Her light up tattoos are weird but are more distracting than disgusting like some of the piercings and implants other Capitol citizens have. There was one lady that had little emeralds on her eyeballs, in a ring around her iris. My prosthetic eye hurts thinking about that too hard.

The lights pulse in time with Metella's heartbeat. The pulse is faster than normal. Something has made her nervous.

I undress and Metella washes off the heaviest parts of the makeup and reapplies a new coat. As she works on outlining my brows, I ask, "Why are you nervous?"

She pauses. "What a silly question. I'm not nervous."

The lights on her tattoos speed up. My asking is making her more nervous. I should stop, because badgering her would be mean. I don't.

"You're heartbeat is faster. That means you're nervous. Why?"

Metella huffs and does not say anything. The less she wants to tell me, the more I want to know. But I also have to work with her for the rest of the tour.

This is the least horrible I've felt all day.

Metella's heartbeat slows back down to how it was before I asked as she continues to apply my makeup. Agrippa enters the room, carrying my outfit. Metella's heartbeat increases again. Is Agrippa making her nervous?

He was upset with Ambilus yesterday. Ambilus drinks too much. Empty bottles were tucked behind the couch. The behavior is unacceptable. (I was eavesdropping.)

Maybe Metella did something to upset him. Or something she thinks will upset him.  
Agrippa doesn't scare me. I don't think he could hurt someone even if he tried to. But the prep team gets scared of him. They probably don't want to lose their jobs. I think Ambilus will.

The dress for this evening is a pretty shade of yellow-green with little patterns on it that look like butterfly wings. Agrippa lets me just hold the gloves for now. I'm stuck in the high heels, though. They are the wedge kind, which are not as bad as the stick kind.

There is still an hour until dinner so I wander off to find Luke. He should be somewhere down the hallway.

Halfway down the hall, I begin to hear the sounds of muffled shouting. That's Luke shouting. For a moment I'm back in recovery, lapsing in and out of consciousness, wondering why Luke is shouting at someone. Last time he was yelling was about me leaving the arena with both my eyes but arriving back in the Capitol with just one. Why would he be yelling now?

I'm okay, right? I check. Hand clenches. Real eye works. Fake eye works.

There's got to be another shouting reason. What could it be?

There are footsteps behind me. On instinct, I whirl around to face whoever approaches. Too quickly, given the wedges, and I fall.

"Oh, sorry! Sorry. Didn't mean to sneak up on you." The voice and offered hand belong to Elektra Allaway.

I take her hand and let her help me to my feet. The fact I can stand without pain means I didn't roll an ankle in the fall.

Elektra continues to talk a mile a minute. "Forgot how thick the carpets are here. Really didn't mean to sneak up on you like that. I normally can't sneak up on people if I try. Are you okay?"

I wait a split second to make sure she's done to tell her, "I'm okay. Not used to wearing anything but boots."

The shouting has quieted but I can make out that Luke's voice has gone lower, which is worse than shouting because Luke only uses the scary growl when something has really pissed him off. He's actually a lot like Emily in that regard. The quieter he is, the angrier he is.

Elektra must notice my shift in attention. "Hey, why don't we head downstairs? I can show you around while Luke yells at Michael."

So that's who Luke is mad at. Why is he mad at Michael Ampere? I ask Elektra.

She guides me away from the argument and answers, "Well, Michael deserves it. It's the rule-courtesy-thing to not hold Victors' actions in the arena against them. It's hard, sometimes. Like how everyone hates Enobaria, but no one would say that to her face or around anyone from Two. That's just rude and hypocritical. We've all killed people so we shouldn't judge people for killing people. Michael was going to say something. I told him not to. He insisted. I let Luke know."

We start down the stairs. My right ankle twinges slightly. Might have bruised something. It's hard to worry about it too much with the sedatives and paying attention to Elektra because she's still talking. (Rambling.)

"Well, Luke is taking care of it, now. Just made him promise not to actually punch Michael. He wanted to." Elektra lets out a weird snorting kind of laugh. "I understand why Michael is upset. Dove's the furthest we've gotten since him. But still, I didn't even end my alliance with Roland when I stabbed him in his sleep. Wasn't good at stabbing either, apparently, because I ran off and it took him nearly two hours to finish bleeding out. Hurt him a lot. You were quick. Thank you."

I only understood half of that between how quickly she said it and the sedatives. All I really got was that she thanked me for ending Dove's life quickly. I don't think I can really say anything to that.

Elektra leads me over to a large window and starts pointing out landmarks.

She points out a row of large houses nearby, one of them as large as mine. "Over there is the mayor's house. Some of the plant heads have houses over that way, too."

She points out a huge building in the distance. "That's Coriolanus 9 over there. It's the power plant that all the solar panels you would have seen on the train connect to. The neat thing about it is that it's a direct photovoltaic station that turns sunlight directly into electricity, while most other solar power stations are concentrated solar power stations that heat water into steam which spins turbines which generates the electricity. That's why we can keep it in the city since there's less a risk of a steam pipe exploding and killing people."

What? Steam explosions?

Now she's pointing at something to the east. "The Victors' Village is way over there. Can we see it from here?" She rises onto the tips of her toes and cranes her neck. "No, not really. Oh well, not much to see. It's just me and Michael. I was out there alone after the Quell when Jack and Zephyr died. Ion was already dead at that point. Michael's not the best company all the time so it is still rather lonely. Marie is okay. And I have a dog, his name is Winston. We go on walks together."

Ion Guri, Victor of the 10th Games. Zephyr Foley, Victor of the 23rd Games. Jack Sunlight, Victor of the 46th Games. That's about all I really picked up there. And a dog named Winston.

Is she done?

"So, what's it like in District 4?" No, she's not done yet. And she keeps talking, "I remember it being really pretty from my tour. Do you really eat seaweed? I remember the rolls at dinner being green."

Forget about Michael and whatever dumb thing he was going to say, Luke needs to rescue me from Elektra.

It's rude, but I just tune Elektra out. She's so busy talking, I doubt she'll even notice I'm not paying attention. I just watch the city through the window. The crowd has dispersed for the most part. A few stranglers have remained.

Some of the stragglers have converged together. They're starting for form a ring. I know that behavior. There's a fight breaking out.

I crane my neck to try to see better. Elektra catches my attention, "Lynn, what do you see?"

"There's a fight."

Part of me wants to go join in. The lethargy from the sedatives stops me from giving that option any serious consideration, but I must be feeling better than I thought when a brawl sounds appealing again.

Elektra rambles on. She's worried, based on what I've picked up from the constant stream of consciousness.

Some Peacekeepers have arrived. They break up the circle with a few shoves and a couple of truncheon blows. Truncheons hurt. I got an old one off Vitalus so we could use it in training and Delph was being an ass and hit me in the leg with it. I had a welt for nearly a week and Delph did not hit me as hard as the members of the crowd had gotten hit. Some of them might have bone fractures.

The Peacekeepers block my view from whoever might have been in the center of the fight. The fighters are dragged away and the crowd is forced back from the square. It probably needs to be presentable for my send off.

I listen to Elektra again. "Oh, well. That was unpleasant, wasn't it? I hope no one got too badly hurt. Why would someone do something like that?"

I know I'd get in a fight like that over an insult or to blow off steam. I've come to realize that's highly atypical in the outer Districts and that response is part of being a career. I shrug and answer, "Not sure. Glad it's over."

It's odd having to lie about something like that to another Victor.


	12. Chapter 12

**The Capitol**

**Lynn Rayna**   
**District 4**   
**Victor of the 87th Hunger Games**

Agrippa looks unsure of himself. Impossible as that seems. His brows are knit together and he pursues his lips. He isn't even quite looking at me, more looking through me, thinking about something.

I sit on the table in the remake center, once again not bothering with a robe for the moment. Beauty base zero has taught me a hatred for wax and a new appreciation of my body hair. The air is as pleasantly cool and soothing as it was before the chariots. The current soreness is from the makeup being scrubbed off so the new coat for the banquet could be applied.

The interview, I survived the interview. Gaius was kind enough to follow a rough script so I could mainly use memorized lines in response. Now it is time for the party at the President's Mansion and I don't really know what to expect. There is no scripting for this. It should be like after the recap, people wanting to take my picture and shake my hand.

Metella struggled to cover up the scar on my side. The skin is now one color, but no amount of concealing cream and contouring can smooth it out. She hasn't bothered to do that previously. When the scar is visible because I'm getting dressed, she never mentions it. Sometimes I see her with a pitying look on her face, but she gets that look when she sees any of the scars. 

My hair has been piled high on my head in a loose bun decorated with pale gold and pearl flower hair pins. The little flowers are star shaped, with gold petals and pearls in the center. Other than that, I don't know what kind they are supposed to be.

"Lynn," Agrippa's voice betrays the fact he really is unsure, his accent thickening, with the rise in pitch becoming more pronounced, "how do you feel about the scar on your side?"

That's a bit of a weird question, but I answer anyways, "It makes stretching difficult. But it never hurts like my hand does, so I don't think about it that much."

Agrippa chuckles and shakes his head. "No, I mean, how would you feel if everyone saw it?" He does not wait for my reply. "There is still plenty of time. I'll show you what I'm thinking of."

He wipes off the makeup with a damp cloth. I don't think Metella will be happy about that if he changes his mind later.

The undergarments are worse than normal. The underwear short things are longer and more constricting. Apparently the skin on your butt is supposed to be smooth according to Capitol standards. Who actually has a naturally smooth butt, though? Hehe, butts.

I slide on the pants, which are really tight. They are a pretty cream fabric that unfortunately does not stretch at all. I hope no one expects me to sit down tonight.

Agrippa then gives me the top. It fits on like a backwards vest and is not much larger than a sports bra. The top is the same cream fabric as the pants with dark blue on the seams in little ropes. Around my breasts, the top is padded and there is some kind of wire structure that digs into my ribs. It's like a built in wire bra. I normally don't bother with anything but a sports bra and when I wear a wire bra I have to borrow one of Min's. 

At least nothing got done surgically in recovery to make my breasts bigger. They do that to some of the female Victors. They tried to do that with Clara but Xanathos was having none of that.

Big breasts don't fit my styling and persona, fortunately. Still hate the padding and the wire. The top leaves my midsection exposed. I look in the mirror. The scar is clear on my left side. That makes the look better. Makes up for the padding.  
I can be honest this time. "I like it. I really do."

"That's wonderful." Agrippa replies.

He drapes a cape around my shoulders and lets me fasten it around my neck. It goes from light yellow to pale greens to dark blues, all shot through with white streaks that shimmer like my parade outfit did. The cape looks like sunlight streaming through water.

Looking in the mirror, I do not look like myself with the padded top and bold cape. This is how the Capitol sees me. Or wants to see me. The scar is me.

Agrippa says, "Luke told me the jumpsuit look upset you. I apologize for that. It never occurred to me that wearing something resembling your armor would bother you." He smiles at me in the mirror. "This is the best way I could think to apologize properly."

The scar being visible isn't part of the plan. He's letting me be me in the look, to some degree. Strange apology, dressing me up like this, but he's Capitol and I shouldn't expect normal from him. The gesture has meaning to him so I can accept it.

"Thank you." I turn so the light catches the shiny, taught skin of the scar. "Apology accepted."

Agrippa adjusts the drape of the cape. The cape goes more over my shoulders now. It covers most of my side, which will let him get away with my side being exposed. The Capitol has limits.

I bet they have trouble with Lynx Cloud. He's the Victor of the 80th Games and got caught in a Gamemaker's fire trap. Nearly half of his torso and face got badly burned and the scars are still there. Skin grafts must not have worked right on him.

Agrippa spends a while fiddling with my hair and makeup, touching up and changing things as he sees fit. I have to stand quietly, since sitting isn't an option in the pants. Luke made me practice staying still in training. Not everyone has to practice being still but there are a handful of us that do. 

It takes forever for Agrippa to be happy with how I look. He keeps changing things and has to resort to a bit of gel to hold a lock of stray hair in place.

A car arrives to take us over to the President's mansion. I have to slip on the high heels and a pair of gloves. Both are pale gold leather. Metallic. I don't like them.

Luke and Irene are already in the car. There's glitter in Luke's hair again. Agrippa gives him a sympathetic look. "Tacita still on that glitter kick?"

Luke shakes his head. "No, well, she might be. Called in a favor and got Silvanus to help me out. Silvanus unfortunately thought it was a lovely idea and there's still glitter. Well, mica power, which I think is even worse to wash out."

Agrippa frowns. "My sympathies. That look is two years out of fashion and never should have been in style in the first place."

I find a way to doze with my eyes open as we're driven over to the President's Mansion.

There are a lot of cameras waiting for me when the car pulls up. Irene gets out of the car first this time. She escorts me up the walkway. She's actually fulfilling the name of her title.

I smile and wave at the cameras. We enter a garden area first. There are a bunch of people milling around. I can spot of few of the Gamemakers. There's Pricilla Wolfshiem talking to Ophiuchus Luster. He's in charge of trap design, I think.

With my arrival, a set of massive doors are opened that lead inside. A lot of the Capitol citizens head straight inside, though some come over to me. A few shake my hand or pose for pictures like before.

Inside, the ceiling must be at least forty feet high and has been painted to look like a sunset, with fluffy clouds turned gold by the imaginary sunlight. There are overstuffed chairs and sofas, but I notice very few are being used on account of too tight clothing much like the pants I'm wearing.

Everywhere there are tables laden with food. I didn't think there could be this much food in one place. This is all for just one night. How will it all get eaten? There are whole animals roasting on spits over the fires in the massive fireplaces. Platters are piled high with roast birds covered in sauces and ponds are stocked with live fish that can be picked out and cooked fresh.

Some of the Capitol citizens linger to chat for a moment or two, complementing me on anything from my outfit and hairstyle to my set time.

One man stands out with his light green skin and solid pale pink eyes. He smells like a flower garden. He shakes my hand.

"Lucius Goodman, it's a pleasure to meet you." He says. "I don't want to be too forward, but I must ask. What did you think of the sundew muttations? I designed them myself."

If I had a knife I'd probably stab the man so it's a good thing I don't have a knife. The Avoxes are the ones handling the carving of the meats. Lucius is the Gamemaker who killed Ajax. Nearly killed me, too.

I need to be polite, so I answer his question. "They were unexpected. Most plant muttations cause sleep or paralysis. Like the tree sap in the 78th Games for sleep or the kelp beds in the 29th Games that paralyzed anyone who swam too close."

It's an easy things to recall plant mutts now. I went back through my notes and checked there hadn't been any people eating mutts prior to the one that killed Ajax. There weren't.

"You know your muttations well. That's lovely." Lucius grabs my hand between his and draws closer. He has flowers woven in his white hair that are the source of the garden scent. "What tipped you off about the muttations being there? Was there a similarity to a previous arena?"

There are worse kinds of Capitol citizens I could be stuck with, like Cassiopeia Prism who kept staring at my breasts during the last banquet, but turns out Lucius Goodman ranks barely above her.

"It was the flowers that made us nervous. Pretty things tend to be deadly in arenas. That was the theme of the whole arena of the 50th Games." Lucius leans in a bit closer and I continue. "The red stalks being a different color than the rest of the grass added to it."

"Really? See, I tried to design them so there's be a sweet scent to draw tributes in. Like using honey to attract flies. I suppose the flowers being more noticeable makes sense."

"Let her be, Lucius. No one wants to hear any more about your plants." Comes Cassie's voice.

She practically shoos Lucius away from me and guides me over to a slightly less crowded part of the room.

Her lips purse. "That was horribly inappropriate of him, cornering you like that. Are you alright?"

Around Cassie, I feel I can be slightly honest, even if things must be understated. "I've encountered more inappropriate. Thank you, though." I switch topics because I don't want anything important to be overheard. "Any recommendations on the food? There's so much, I don't know where to start."

Cassie picks up on the intentional switch to a lighter topic. "Well, the squid ink pasta is particularly good. I bet that must be familiar to you."

"No. Too expensive. It's better to just sell all the squid you catch and buy something cheaper. I take there's no sardines being served. That would be familiar."

Cassie shakes her head. "No, I don't think so. You should try it anyways to see what the fuss is all about." Something catches her attention. "Ah, there's Vincent. I have to go discuss something with him quickly. I'll make sure to find you again later."

She drifts off into the crowd in pursuit of Vincent Flourish, her business partner. He was one of my sponsors as well, so I remember him from the last banquet. I see the black pasta she was talking about a few tables down and head over in that direction.

Five different people stop to shake my hand and take a photo on the way there. I reach the table and an Avox serves me a small plate of the pasta. The sauce has cream and garlic in it and these tiny little round onions the size of my thumbnail. Other than being black, the pasta tastes briny. It's nice, but not that amazing. Right now, all I really want is some fried sardines.

When I finish the plate, another Avox appears to take it away. Are Capitol people really so lazy they need someone to take their dishes away to be cleaned? Evidently, since there are several more Avoxes doing the same thing.

There is only one Capitol citizen who stops me to take my picture on the way to the next table. The Avox there serves me a plate with three small pies on it. I think I recognize the Avox. Dark brown eyes, with a small scar across the bridge of her nose. I definitely recognize her. She must work down in the resort sometimes. There isn't anyone close by to notice, so I smile and thank her softly. Her expression remains a carefully control blankness, but she nods her head briefly in acknowledgement.

I don't pay much attention to the pies. They're some kind of meat with a sauce in each one. They're all too sweet for me but are only two bites so I eat them anyways.

There are a lot of Avoxes here. Most of the tables, other than a few with drinks on them or small prepared plates, have an Avox staffing them. There are half a dozen walking around the room, serving drinks or taking people's plates. Treason is a rather broad crime, given just how many people whose tongues are cut out for it.

The tiled area at the center of the room has been cleared and turned into a dance floor.

I refuse to dance so I make sure to stick to the fringes of the room. It's not like no one can see me or anything, but if I'm too far away, no one can drag me over there.

The table I'm near has different kinds of cakes on it. I eat my way through half the flavors before I spot Pricilla Wolfshiem and head over in the opposite direction. Talking to Lucius Goodman was bad enough. I really don't want to hear anything a Head Gamemaker might want to say.

I finish the chocolate cherry cake. The lemon cake was better; it wasn't too sweet or too heavy like the others were.

A clock chimes from somewhere. Two chimes. It's two in the morning. Surely this can't last too much longer.

Another Avox takes my plate and other Capitol citizen comes by to take a picture with me. I recognize the man. It's Oren Sonata. He must have gotten over my scars, given how his hand rests on my hip. I smile for the photo as I think of breaking each of his fingers, one satisfying snap at a time.


	13. Chapter 13

**Winter 88**  
**January 6th**

**Lynn Rayna**  
**District 4**  
**Victor of the 87th Hunger Games**

The chorus chants from the sides of the stage. This year the performance is a comedy, Aristophanes' Peace. A lot of the original has been lost, before Panem rose even, but writers have filled in the gaps over the years.

I stand to the side, still uncomfortable around crowds, especially after the party at the President's Mansion. Far too many people touching me.

A crown of laurels rests on my brow. The leaves are dry, and itch, and the smell reminds me of soup. All Victors wear laurels during Dionysia. Wearing the wreath makes me feel more like a Victor than the Tour or even Parcel Days did.

Emily walks over to me, holding a pair of cups. She hands me one and I accept it. The coffee smells good. And she even remembered to put some milk in mine to cut the bitterness. I don't like bitter foods all that much. Some are okay in limited amounts, like coffee or chocolate, but most poisons taste bitter and I can't help but think of them whenever I'm eating something bitter.

We stand together in silence, sipping coffee and watching the play.

Emily says, "You should talk to him."

My immediate reaction is to tell her no. I don't want to talk to Hyacinth right now because it's going to be awkward. So I've been awkwardly avoiding him, which is difficult because he's one of my best friends and my crush and I don't want to avoid him. But I do want to avoid him at the same time. Is this what normal people have problems with?

I settle for saying, "She wasn't supposed to tell him."

Jessie kept her promise of telling Hyacinth I liked him since I didn't do it myself. I'm mad at her. Which feels really weird because I'm never mad at Jessie. Then again, Jessie has never done anything to make me mad at her before.

"Well, she did. Make the best of it."

This is the logical thing to do. So I tell her, "Stop being logical."

Emily laughs and cuffs my shoulder like she does to Luke. "I'll stop being a bitch if you want me to. But I still think you should talk to Hyacinth."

Clutching my cup of coffee, I hunch my shoulders a bit.

"I know I should. But what do I even say to him?" I ask, then to save face I straighten again and add, "If I talk to him, that is."

That doesn't even remotely work on Emily but it makes me feel a bit better. She smiles and shrugs. "Ask him how he's been or make a comment about the play. Don't bring up feelings if you don't want to talk about them."

I'm getting that pre-interview feeling again. That little part of me that says run, which would rather plunge into the arena and fight off a thousand mutts rather than talk to someone. There are other feelings, too. Like embarrassment because I haven't been brave enough to talk to him. And there is guilt, because I do not deserve a happy ending.

Emily has to pick up on the mood shift. She lightly cuffs my shoulder, more to get my attention than in jest. "Come on, let's walk a bit."

I gladly follow. The crowd is overwhelming because I'm having emotions. A lot of things get overwhelming when my feelings start to get the best of me. I hate it.

I'm supposed to think positively and not say I hate everything. Which I hate. Mainly because Dr. Hirria's positive thoughts advice works and it really shouldn't but does anyways. Really sarcastically thinking the phrase "happy thoughts" in Dr. Hirria's ridiculous Capitol accent makes me feel a touch better. The thing about his advice is that it distracts my from whatever thing I hate that's upsetting me. Makes it work.

Emily leads me further down the beach. The chorus grows fainter until I can't make out the words anymore.

"I know all the things we say are easier said than done." Emily says. "Mags pissed me off all the time when I was still recovering. It was all 'Emily, get down from the roof, right now' and 'Emily Delmare stop sleeping in the bathtub then complaining about the crick in your neck, choose one or the other.'"

Emily's impersonation of Mags is almost perfect from what I remember her voice sounding like off of some of the old tapes. And the image of Emily being scolded by anyone is hilarious. A laugh escapes me. It's the first time I've actually laughed in a while now.  
"I've never slept in the bathtub. It's too difficult to get in and out of quickly so I don't like it as a hiding place. I fell asleep behind the dresser once."

Emily chuckles. "Yeah, scared the shit out of us that time. It took us nearly four hours to find you."

"Really?"

I don't remember that part of it.

"Well, you were asleep." Emily points out, then shrugs. "We hadn't figured out where you liked to hide at that point. I went for the bathtub and the closet, sometimes the roof. Luke would sit in the field most of the time or would be glued to Elly. You just like to wedge yourself any place you can fit so we look between the wall and any piece of large furniture for you, or under the desk. At least you normally stay at home."

I like sleeping under the desk in the study. Even when I'm not upset or hiding, it's comfortable down there. A couple pillows and a blanket and the hollow under the desk where the chair gets tucked away becomes a great place for a nap.

Emily still leads the way. I follow her further into town. With most things happening on the beach and docks, the streets are quiet. We sit on some steps.

Towards the square, there's a few members of Otter Polis by the sweet shop helping to package bags of candy, like we do every year. And Hyacinth is there. Because of course he's there.

Emily did this on purpose. For a moment I'm pissed, but then I stop myself. Being angry is tiring and I should work on my temper. What she's done isn't malicious. She wants to help me. And she hadn't forced me into anything. She's presented me with an opportunity.

I'm hit by a storm of doubt. What if I say the wrong thing? What if he doesn't like me back? And I don't-

I stop myself. I survived the Hunger Games. I killed to survive. Right now, I'm surviving. Just surviving. I need to make it so there's worth to my future. I make my happy ending.

That's way easier said than done and my sudden boost of confidence is quickly fading, battered by the doubt and guilt. But I need to try to be happy and stop moping all the time and damn it, I miss my friends.

The best thing is to start moving before I can stop myself. For all my plans, sometimes I just need to act. I get up and jog over to the square.

Delphinia spots me first. She calls out, "Hey, Lynn!"

A few members run up to meet me. I fall into step between Demetrius and Hyacinth out of habit. Hyacinth smiles at me. Well, he's managed to not be a ball of awkwardness and anxiety, so that makes one of us.

Susan turns and jogs backwards for a few moments. "We found some mermaid's purses near the rock tumble by wharf five. Want to go check if they've dried out yet?"

"Sure." There's a good distraction. The candy bagging isn't done though. "We should probably finish here first, though."

Susan turns back around. "Ugh, why do you have to be so responsible?"

"Cause Elly's my neighbor and I don't want her to be mad at me for distracting you guys."

There's a round of agreement. We all regard Elly with respect, not just fear. But she's still scary in her own right. It's not just because she's Luke wife and we don't want him mad at us. She has the magically ability to make you feel really bad for disappointing her or letting her down. Someone referred to it as "mom guilt" once. 

I get passed a couple of the packages to make things go faster. Tying the bows is easy for me. I got roped into doing it while visiting Min more than once, so I'm reasonably well practiced at it.

We finish the rest of the packaging quickly and send Delph to carry everything into the shop since she's youngest and has to do what we say.

I should say something to Hyacinth. I don't want to accidently give the impression I'm not actually interested in him and lose him to someone else. And I might even be worrying over nothing if he's not interested in me back so I should get it over with sooner rather than later either way.

"Hey, Lynn, can I ask you something really quick?" Susan asks, appearing beside me.

Susan and I have never been particularly close, we know each other pretty well, but have never been the kind to meet up outside of the Polis. No reason not to answer whatever question she has.

"What do you want to know?" I ask.

Susan motions with her head to move away from everyone else. I follow Susan until we're out of earshot. We lean against the wall of the bakery, near an open window. The scent of yeasty bread wafts around us.

Susan can't seem to meet my eyes, looking everywhere but my face.

"Look, I'm not planning on backing out. I'll say that now. If I'm chosen to volunteer, I'm volunteering. But I have to know, what is it really like in the arena? You've been screwy since you go back. Not Annie screwy, but not yourself."

I have panic attacks like Annie does, but not the agoraphobia. That's what Dr. Hirra calls it when you're afraid of crowds and open spaces, stuff like that. Crowds make my uncomfortable, but don't scare me on their own. No one in Otter Polis has seen me have a panic attack. They only see me on good days, so I guess I give off a better mental state than I have.

"It's bad, Susan. Really bad. And it is stuff you don't expect. The boy I gutted in the bloodbath, Oak, his guts smelled like orange juice and bile. He must have drank some during the breakfast on the way to the arena. I still can't stand the smell of orange juice. I can't even eat oranges even though I used to like them."

It's cathartic, getting to say this to someone other than a fellow Victor or Dr. Hirra. Susan won't be telling me she understands or give me advice on how to get over it. I go on.

"Killing someone is like killing a fish, it is. Except you're killing a person and you try to tell yourself they're just a tribute but that only works temporarily. You might have to kill a twelve year old and justify it to yourself with the fact they were rushing you with a knife. But the knife doesn't change the fact that they were twelve. You might have to kill an ally after they stop being an ally."

Mary and Dove. I regret killing the tributes that I did, but Mary and Dove are my deepest regrets.

Susan looks at me, both wide-eyed and with her brows knit in something like concern. "Is it worth it?"

"No." That word holds nightmares and black envelopes and nerve damage. I shrug. "But I'm trying to make it worth it. Parcel days help, because at least someone benefited from what I did. And the laurels helps as well. Same with being around friends again. No more isolation for me."

If I tell people that, I know a few that will hold me to it. I need the extra motivation a lot of the time.

"Susan! Lynn! Come on, let's go." Brine calls from where everyone else has gathered.

Brine is new to the Polis, a latecomer from Low Ward. His parents, former careers themselves, taught him some things so he fits in. He somehow made friends with Delphinia and the two are now joined at the hip, so we've accepted him into the friend group within the Polis.

Susan and I jog over to the rest of the group and we head out towards and docks and wharfs in the southern part of Main Port. There's plenty of jostling and little foot races. It's nice having contact with people that's natural, not the forced handshakes and unwanted touches from the Capitol.

Delph and Brine race ahead again. My legs are sore and we're still a good ten minutes away from wharf five, so I don't feel like running anymore. Hyacinth lags back and falls into step beside me. 

"Hey, it's been a while." He sounds hesitant. Maybe the nerves are a bit more mutual than I thought, which is comforting.

"Yeah. I know I've been more than a bit distance." I bite down on the inside of my cheek, but make myself stop and allude to the issue at hand. "Jessie wasn't supposed to tell you what she told you."

"Figured." He flashes me a lopsided grin. "Feeling is mutual, in case you were worried about that part."

The feeling is mutual. That means he likes me. I don't have to worry about that anymore. Hyacinth likes me.

"I'm glad to hear that." I say, then have no idea what else to say. "Uh, we should probably catch up."

Hyacinth nods. "Hop on, I bet we can beat them there."

I hop onto Hyacinth's back and wraps my arms around his shoulders. He secures me with his arms under my knees. The only advantage to being as small as I am, I can still be carried like this.

I laugh, "Alright, let's go."

Hyacinth breaks into a run, laughing too. He's fast, even with my extra weight. We pass by Susan. We round the corner and Demetrius, Delphinia, and Brine come into view. Wharf five is only a block away.

The crown of laurels flies off my head but I do not care enough to want to go get it back. I don't need the laurels to make this worth it.


	14. Chapter 14

**Winter 88**  
**February 23rd**

**Hyacinth Ballast**  
**District 4**

Kelp curls around my legs, meowing at me. This cat is trying to trip me on purpose. He is in the tail end of that awkward young animal phase where his limbs are all too long for the rest of him and trips over himself instead. Serves him right.

Stuck holding the cake box, I can't get to the door even without Kelp blocking it. I turn to Delph. "Hey, get the door."

Delph swings the door open and announces, "Happy birthday, Lynn. You get cake for breakfast."

Well, that's one way to do it. I was thinking of knocking first but shouting works all the same. If I wanted logical, shouldn't have asked Delph.

I head into the kitchen and set down the cake on the table. Jason trails in behind me, remembering to close the door but not before Kelp runs inside. He's still rubbing sleep out of his eyes. Never been one for rising early. Plus he's been running himself ragged in preparation for next month's bouts. I'll still beat him in hand-to-hand and wrestling.

Kelp bounds up onto the top of the fridge. He curls his tail around his paws and looks down on us. He's like President Ferrum looking down from the balcony.

A few moments pass and Lynn appears in the doorway separating the kitchen from the sitting room, bleary eyed. She hasn't put her prosthetic eye in, yet her glare is just as pointed with only one eye. "What are you doing in my kitchen?"

Delph either ignores or does not recognize Lynn's annoyance. "We brought you cake."

Lynn blinks and looks confused. Then a smile begins to spread across her lips.

"It's the twenty third, isn't it?"

"Course it is, cuz." Jason can't pass up the opportunity to tease Lynn. "Three weeks after mine. Happy birthday."

Lynn gestures to the table. "Open the box, I'll get forks."

I open the cake box while Lynn goes over to some drawers.

"Lynn," Delph calls over, "are you planning on putting pants on?"

Lynn gets the forks and pointedly gestures to Delph. "I'm not putting on pants to eat breakfast if I don't have to."

Logical to me. The nightgown she's in looks comfortable.

I got to ask. "Hey, Lynn, got any other nightgowns? We could all get changed and match."

She snorts and rolls her eye at me. "Hyacinth, I don't think the great coat I have would fit you. I would still love to see you in a fluffy pink nightgown though. I'll have to get one in your size."

I'm going to wind up getting a fluffy pink nightgown, aren't I? Could be comfortable. Lynn likes hers enough.

"I'm a size large." I offer. 

Delph has a grin on her face and she's looking over at Jason. That's not good.

"They'd fit me and Jason. He's only five more pounds than you."

Oh, she should not be baiting Jason. He prickles up and straightens. It makes it worse since he's next to me and I'm nearly a full head taller than him. He's closer to twenty-five pounds heavier than Lynn but pointing that out might actually make things worse.

Now Lynn has got a grin on her face, too. She and Delph just bring out some of the worst in each other. Lynn can get downright nasty when it comes to teasing Jason and he has been increasingly on edge lately. We can all only hope he pulls off a Candela Twins and becomes the second back-to-back Victor.

Don't feel like getting caught in an argument between those two today. If it starts, there's no stopping them until someone gets hurt.

I plop down in a chair, scoop up a fork, and take a bite of cake.

This gets Lynn's attention. She glares at me. I try not to laugh because that might just really make her mad. Intentionally through my mouthful of cake, I point out, "You got forks for all of us."

Lynn takes the seat next to me and gets her own fork. "I'm getting some before you eat it all."

She takes a bite of cake. Argument avoided, I win.

Delph and Jason sit down and tuck into the cake as well. Then Lynn and Jason start squabbling over the glazed strawberries because they are physically incapable of not fighting. Delph joins in because she can.

This is why they're the ones who volunteer and I'm not going to. I enjoy some friendly competition and all, or beating someone who deserves it like Jason often does. I just don't go looking for fights for the sake of fighting.

I get most of the frosting, which is the best part of any cake, so I really come out ahead this breakfast.

It comes down to a single strawberry left in the box. Jason and Lynn stare each other down. Delph has stepped down from this fight. Smart move.

This is Lynn's birthday cake and she should get the strawberry. Jason is being obstinate and won't give in. How to resolve this without anyone getting stabbed by a fork? Lynn switches grips on her fork and the tines are more pointed at Jason's hand than the strawberry. I doubt she'll draw blood, but why risk it?

I ready my fork. Neither of them pays me any heed. Jason tenses. His tells are always too noticeable. I make my move, skewering the strawberry and quickly offering it to Lynn. "I believe this is yours."

She plucks the strawberry off my fork with her teeth and swallows it before flashing Jason a triumphant grin. He huffs and rolls his eyes.

Lynn leans over and kisses me on the cheek. Oh. Umm... That was nice.

We've had our slightly awkward, "hey, I like you, you like me back" thing going on. We know there's mutual attraction and we've been friends for years, so that's a start. Neither of us have been in a serious relationship before, careers avoid those like the plague. Unless you're Luke, but he and Elly are soul mates, so that's different. Most people aren't lucky enough to have, let alone find, a soul mate.

It's not the first time Lynn has kissed me, but it's the first time in front of other people, even if people just means Delph and Jason.

She stands and says, "I'm going to go put on pants. We can head over to the cove after I'm dressed."

Lynn leaves and I swear she giggles once she gets out the door. That snaps me out of my daze, because that's just too funny. I didn't think she was capable of giggling. Especially with the understandable funk she's been in since the Games.

Jason snorts. "I was going to say I think she broke you, but looks like she broke if she's giggling."

"If she asks, we didn't hear that." I say.

Delph gives me a confused look. "Wait. So, are you and Lynn a thing?"

"Kinda. Maybe." I shrug, because I'm not sure how to put it. Lynn can get a bit dodgy when feelings come up. "Nothing official or anything like that."

"Since when?" Delph seems genuinely perplexed by this.

"Around Dionysia."

Delph's confusion remains. It isn't like we've kept it a secret. We've just never brought it up unless someone else said something first. No one else has talked about it much, for that matter, except when it came out that Jessie was the one who told me Lynn liked me. The mutual attraction was apparently obvious, to everyone but the two of us. And Delph, I guess. I think the fact she's is only fifteen is showing or something.

"But how? Lynn is Lynn and you're you."

I don't think Delph means that as an insult, but that does sting. I know Lynn's amazing because she's smart and she's brave and all. But what am I, a bucket of chum?

"Lay off him." Jason says. "They're good for each other. Hyacinth is the only person I've ever met who can get Lynn to calm down."

He just gave me a compliment. Surely this is a sign that the fall of Panem is nigh. I'm flattered.

Something makes a thunk noise. I look over and see Kelp jumping down from his perch on top of the fridge onto the counter. He pads across the tile floor and jumps onto my lap. He spins in a circle before curling up.

"Well, it looks like I have both the cousin stamp of approval and the cat stamp of approval." I point out.

Jason snorts and makes a point of rolling his eyes the same way Lynn does. It must be hereditary.

Delph reaches across the table and Kelp moves his head away from her hand.

"Why won't he let me pet him?" She complains, over her shock about me and Lynn kind of dating.

Kelp meows at Delph then looks up at me with his big green eyes and meows at me. I have no idea what that's supposed to mean. He meows again and head butts my chest.

Jason reaches over and offers his hand to Kelp. Kelp sniffs it, rubs his cheek against Jason's hand, and then pulls his head away before Jason can pet him. He looks up and meows at me again. And I thought Lynn was hard to understand sometimes. At least she occasionally speaks when voicing her displeasures.

Lynn appears in the doorway again. She's got her prosthetic eye in now. Far more symmetrical, and to be honest, less creepy. She's dressed practically, long pants and a shirt with a jacket tossed over one arm for if the wind picks up. Even these clothes look fancy. The jeans' fabric looks smooth and there's embroidery on the pockets. Most of what she owns is from the Capitol or the best things you can buy from the tailor's.

Kelp jumps down from my lap and winds around Lynn's legs. She scoops him up and sets him on her shoulder. I can hear him purring from over here. She scratches him under the chin and the purring gets louder. That must have been what he wanted.

Lynn sets him on the counter and pulls the fridge door open. She sets a bowl in front of him and Kelp starts scarfing down the contents. With Kelp eating his breakfast, Lynn turns to us and says, "Let's head out."

We follow her out the door. Jason breaks into a sprint and shouts, "Race you!"

Naturally, we have to comply with the challenge since it's been verbalized. Delph and Lynn race ahead after him and I take a steadier pace. I know none of them will be able to keep their current pace all the way to the cove, especially down the slope.

Lynn wisely slows down a bit on the slope. Jason goes tumbling but he just tucks into a roll and recovers nicely. Good to see he can pull that trick off, too. He may have even done it on purpose to show off.

The cove comes into sight the same time the ground flattens out. I break into a proper run and slip between Jason and Delph. I couple more bounds and I've caught up to Lynn.

"Oh, no, you don't." She shouts at me.

She shoulder checks me and I stumble, caught off guard. Lynn is fighting dirty, but of course she is. She's Lynn and is physically incapable of playing fair. Come to think of it, I should have expected a move like that.

I hesitate because I don't want to hurt her but also know the last thing she wants is for me to treat her like she's made of glass.

The obvious answer is to tackle her.

I lunge forwards and grab her around the waist. We go tumbling down and land on our sides. Lynn lands half on top of me and I can't really complain about that. Plus, my body cushions her fall a bit so I can be something of a gentleman while still tackling her to the ground.

Lynn bursts into laughter. I can make out something along the lines of "you rotten cheater" through the laughs as Lynn tries to squirm out of my grip.

"In my defense, you cheated first." I point out.

"That's not the point." She replies.

Not sure what the point is, but her cheating first is not it. She twists to face me and plants a kiss on my lips. She tastes like candied strawberries and chocolate frosting.

She breaks the kiss and slips away. And she's running again. Damn it, she just did that to distract me. And it worked.

I get to my feet and chase after her. "That's not fair!"

She just laughs in response.

"Really, you two?" Jason calls from up ahead.

"She started it!" I shout back as Lynn ducks under my arm and hops over the low fence boarding the cove, not bothering with the gate.

"And I'm winning!" She cries triumphantly as I follow half a step behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will likely be the last thing I post for a couple of months except for maybe a couple of one-shots if I have time to edit them. College is naturally taking up the majority of my time right now.
> 
> I plan on participating in NaNoWriMo again this year, which is when the majority of Pewter Owl was written last year. The next major installment of _Tokens and Praises_ will likely start coming out late December or early January while I'm on winter break.
> 
> For now I wish you all a Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor,
> 
> Tin


End file.
